Like Rolling Uphill Without the Struggle
by smallsteps32
Summary: 5th in series OTOS: When the story is over and the battles have been fought, we end with Happily Ever After. But surely it's the Happily Ever After that we'd rather hear about? It's definitely the part that Deborah Richardson is looking forwards to.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! Here is the fic depicting Deborah's future, as promised. Hopefully I'll be alternating between this and the other fic, but it really depends on what mood I'm in.**

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**Chapter One**

Maybe she wasn't qualified to judge, or perhaps she was simply too close to the flames to make a proper decision, but for once in her life, everything seemed to be going extraordinarily well for Deborah Richardson.

For the first time in her life she had, simultaneously, a job that paid reasonably well and wasn't under threat of bankruptcy each day, a roof over her head, a daughter who though far away could come and go as she pleased and often did, and most spectacularly, Martin Crieff sharing her bed, and her life, every day.

Deborah allowed herself the indulgence of a small smile as she flicked the dishwater from her hands, careful not to splash bubbles on her uniform sleeves, and turned to survey the sitting room; Martin was sitting on the sofa, hunched forwards as he typed intermittently at his laptop which rested on the coffee table, looking somewhat like a secretive little crab as the morning sun filtered through the window and lit up the red in his hair.

Deciding that he would appreciate just a few moments more peace before she disturbed him, Deborah wandered from the kitchen and through the sitting room, brushing her hand over Martin's shoulders on her way to the door; he shifted and flexed, but otherwise didn't react beyond a pleasured hum as she crossed to the door and plucked the pile of letters from the floor.

If someone had asked her…not even the seven years ago in which they had first met, but a simple two years ago, even when they had been first exploring their relationship, Deborah couldn't have begun to imagine that they would live like this; she loved Martin with all of her heart, and there was no longer any doubt that that he loved her, but the idea of them shifting from two people into something resembling and _household_…that was remarkable.

And yet there they were, Deborah mused, as flicked through the letters, abandoning all but the one that caught her eye, and crossed the room to drop down beside him. It wasn't like anything else Deborah had ever experienced, and for once, she could honestly say that she was truly, and completely happy.

Yes, they bickered, almost all the time; that was just how they functioned. That didn't mean that living with Martin, existing with Martin, wasn't beautiful. Deborah's previous attempts at settling down had been lacklustre at best, and there had always been something wrong, or an inkling that someone was trying too hard, or not hard enough. They had set roles, and neither party had been good at fulfilling them.

The same couldn't be said now; Deborah was sure, with an aching, harrowing certainty, that what she and Martin had was for good. It was like devoting your life to your best friend, and to the love of your life, and yet, nothing like either; it was just a feeling, in the pit of her lungs through to the tip of her toes as they curled in anticipation, that whispered and screamed that this man was as much a component of her world as the heart pumping blood through her veins was, and Deborah honestly couldn't remember how she had existed without Martin's presence.

"Are you still doing that?" Deborah inquired, as she sat forwards, propping herself up on her elbows and shifting close enough that their knees pressed together; she watched the little tables open and close on the computer screen, and although she appreciated what he was doing, couldn't help but feel that familiar flutter of despair, "Martin, you were the one telling me to get out of bed and be ready to leave."

"I know, I know." Martin replied quickly, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, his fingers never stopping as they danced jerkily across the keyboard; he spared Deborah a fleeting smile at best, but it was warm and affectionate, so she had no complaints, "But, we're going on a long trip, far away, where there won't be any way for me to do this, so I want to have it all ready for when we start paying for things."

"I think you're just being stubborn." Deborah remarked fondly, dropping one hand down to trace the tips of her fingers over and around Martin's knee; it was true that they had been trying to sort out joint bank accounts for months, and it _was_ exciting, but he was cutting it rather fine considering how early they were expected at the airfield.

"Why would I be being stubborn?" Martin retorted, snorting slightly, but carrying on as he had been, even as Deborah slid a little closer and curled her hands around his arm, so that she could rest her chin on his shoulder.

"Why would you be being stubborn?" Deborah repeated dryly, smirking and quirking an eyebrow at him, "Oh, let me think…hmmm…could it be that you've been perfecting this since last night, and your last words to me before I went to bed were, 'Don't worry Dear, I'll have this up and running before the sun'."

"Of course I'm perfecting it." Martin agreed, his cheeks flushing scarlet nonetheless as he very deliberately didn't take his eyes from the computer screen; he was always so lovely to tease, even now that he should have learnt how to handle it, "I'm a perfectionist."

"I _know_, and I love that about you." Deborah drawled, smiling warmly as she tipped her head forwards and pressed a kiss to Martin's shoulder, snuggling closer despite her earlier remark; it was no concern of hers if they were late, "When you moved in it was like gaining a cleaning fairy; I actually know where all my things are now."

"Well, if you're so enamoured with my organisational skills, maybe I should start offering Maid services." Martin said, in that jaunty tone of voice that accompanied his badly executed jokes; he smiled brightly, self-satisfied, and turned his head to meet her gaze, his wrist doing a little flourish as he tapped, "Maids get paid much more than ten pounds an hour."

"From Van Man to Maid." Deborah mused aloud, pursing her lips and making a show of staring into the middle-distance; then she smirked, and gave Martin's arm a little squeeze, taking care to run her palms over the subtle, but definite muscles that he had built up shifting furniture for over a decade, "No, I'd miss these…"

"Muscle mass over money." Martin remarked sagely, fixing his attention back on the banking site that he was carefully navigating; he could pretend all he liked, Deborah knew that he knew she adored his physique, and exactly how proud he was of that fact, "It's nice to know one of us has our priorities straight."

"But how would I cope if you stopped being strong enough to pick me and throw me down on the bed?" Deborah asked airily, playing up her shocked despair and blinking up at Martin from where she rested on his shoulder, chin pressed to the smooth yet scratchy material of his jacket.

"_Well_, I…I-uh…ahem…" Martin began to reply wickedly, then he blushed and his eyes ducked down from where they had lingered on Deborah's lips; before she could tease him, or play along, he glanced back to the computer screen and let out a triumphant exclamation, rapping his hands on the keyboard, "Ah, there we go! I told you I could do it."

"I never doubted your abilities for a second." Deborah replied, peering over his shoulder at the odd assortment of coloured boxes and words; there was a reason that _he_ was doing this and not _her_.

"Of course you didn't." Martin murmured, as he sat back and folded his arms together, leaning just so into Deborah's side and smiling down at her, the pride evident in the cheerful glow that emanated from his pores.

"So what have you actually done?" Deborah asked, aiming for nonchalance; if nothing else, Martin would enjoy getting to explain his processes to her, even if he did assume that she was only teasing or pretending not to know. In truth, he could have done anything, and was likely to have done lots of things that weren't strictly related to joining their accounts, just because he thought it was a good idea.

"Oh, it's quite simple actually." Martin explained eagerly, leaning forwards again to tap at the screen, and then pull it into his lap when Deborah didn't come closer to inspect his actions, "I've left our personal savings accounts separate-"

"Why?" Deborah inquired, narrowing her eyes at him; they had had discussions about this many a time in the last few weeks, and yet no shred of guilt or sheepishness crossed Martin's face.

"Because they're ours, and that way our personal money, a-and anything we might get gifted by family, o-or whatever…that's all separate." Martin informed her, biting down on his bottom lip as he took his eyes from hers and looked pointedly down at the screen, scrolling aimlessly down the page.

"It doesn't need to be." Deborah replied tersely, though she did settle back into the sofa when she realised that her shoulders had tensed, and her hands and stiffened around his arm, "I did tell you that I don't mind sharing with you;I _meant_ everything."

"I know you did, _but_, you're just going to have to let this lie." Martin said imploringly, turning his head to gaze at her with his big blue eyes; he already knew that this was a debate that he was going to win, "Please, for my own peace of mind."

"Oh fine." Deborah sighed, conceding to rest her cheek on Martin's shoulder once more; it wasn't as if it were a big problem, or one that she particularly wanted to fight over; if Martin was happy, then she'd put up with his odd quirks, "You're turning me into a pushover."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you were in my shoes, believe me." Martin remarked sarcastically, and then took one look at Deborah's quirked eyebrow, and his eyes widened as he hastily returned to explaining what he had done, "Right, uh…_this_, this here is our joint account; basically that's where all our wages and other income goes, and then that's what we pay the bills from."

"Excellent, that's exactly what I asked for." Deborah exclaimed, smiling wanly as she peered at the digits and the details being presented to her, giving Martin's arm a faint squeeze, "Well done."

"I _am_ capable of following basic requests." Martin retorted, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he pouted at her; his indignation wasn't heated, but Deborah found that it still instilled a pleasant fluttering in her chest, even after so much time.

"Oh _really_?" Deborah drawled, shucking her knees up to rest against his thighs as she curled into Martin's side and batted her eyelashes at him, "It's funny, I must have been living with someone else for the last nine months."

"Yes, that's very funny." Martin acknowledge wryly, but he smiled wanly and tipped his head down to press his lips to hers nonetheless; he looked thoughtful for a moment, then he lifted his laptop in one hand and waved it slightly before placing it carefully on the coffee table, "I'm still not sure about this, I-I mean-"

"Martin, it makes sense." Deborah assured him, taking care to be patient, and to actually listen to what he was trying to say without giving him enough rope that he could hang himself, "Carolyn is paying us a joint wage, which is now fifty per cent larger than my original one-"

"Only because we still can't afford to pay me a full wage." Martin muttered, huffing through his nose and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table before thinking better of it and bringing them down to the carpet with a thud, "This is just her way of sweetening the deal."

"I know it is, but it's better than nothing." Deborah soothed him, pursing her lips as she stroked a hand from his shoulder to his wrist, cuddling close enough to rest her forehead against his cheek, and then pull back to examine his expression; to say that she was disappointed would have been an understatement, "What's that face for?"

"Nothing." Martin replied shortly, his petulant frown and the way that his eyes darted from side to side betraying the truth, even before he huffed and threw his hands into the air, "I-I just thought that, after the first load of new clients, and the influx of more money, and _not being bankrupt_ anymore, that we'd keep rising – but we're not!"

"Martin, if you had been there right at the start of MJN like I was, you'd know just how far we've actually come." Deborah reasoned, meeting and holding his gaze; it was true, things hadn't gotten as good as they had hoped, but compared to where Deborah had thought that MJN was going, what they had was a miracle, "The fact that we're making a profit, and a large, steady, one at that, is remarkable."

"We could get better." Martin insisted, the hope almost a tangible glitter in his eyes; that only made Deborah's heart ache to make things right for him, even though she for once had no way to do so.

"No we couldn't." Deborah replied softly, but firmly, as she leaned into Martin's side, "MJN may be able to survive, just about, but we're never going to earn much more than we do now, we're never going to get more popularity, and we're never going to expand."

"But-" Martin barely got the syllable out before he was cut off.

"There are no buts Martin." Deborah said, looking imploringly into his eyes, raising one hand into the air between them in the hope that it would keep him from arguing, "We're doing well just by existing in a state that isn't on the verge of collapse; we may be able to afford to fix GERTI when she breaks, but we'll never be able to afford any friends for her."

"I know that." Martin conceded glumly, slouching back into the cushions and pushing a hand through his carefully combed hair, before he started picking at his epaulets, "It's just – sometimes I wonder, what was even the point in saving it all if we're never going to grow big."

"So that's what's been keeping you up at night." Deborah muttered, rolling her eyes, and reaching out to brush the backs of her fingers through his now messy fringe; for weeks now she would wake in the middle of the night, and although Martin wouldn't be tossing and turning, he would be laid out on his back, exactly where he had been when she had curled herself around him, without saying a word, but obviously deep in thought.

For someone who usually slept like a log and needed klaxons to rouse him from his slumber, that was worrying; but Deborah had chosen not to bother him about it, as Martin was the sort of man that liked to work through his problems on his own.

"How do you know about that?" Martin demanded, his eyebrows rising to meet his hairline as his cheeks flushed and brought out the sharpness of his freckles.

"You play with my hair when you're moping." Deborah informed him wryly, dropping a hand down to rest on his knee and squeeze comfortingly, "It's a bit hard to sleep when you're stroking me."

"Sorry." Martin let out a sort of truncated chuckle, and blushed all the more, even as Deborah shook her head and smiled, pecking at the corner of his lips; that didn't keep him occupied for long, the eternal worrier that he was, "It just…seems a bit…"

"We did well Martin." Deborah interrupted sternly, unwilling to allow him to delve into the angst ridden pit that was simmering under the surface of his mind, "I know that you're going to gloat terribly now, but you really did a fantastic job…none of this would have been here now if it weren't for you."

"What was it all for?" Martin groaned, shaking his head as if the world rested on his shoulders and he was trying not to let it topple with the movement, as he gazed despairingly into Deborah's eyes; he was beautiful when his face was so open, free of stubborn lines or a scowl, but there wasn't time to focus on how nice his unwavering trust in her was.

"So that we could live the lives we want to." Deborah explained, and then sighed; she shifted so that her legs were tucked beneath her, and dropped her hands to take Martin's and intertwine them, "Martin, saving MJN may not have shot her to loftier heights, but it means that when we want to step away and move on collectively, we _can_, and gracefully. As it was before, everything was just crumbling into a messy, debt-ridden heap."

"I suppose…" Martin agreed after a moment of thought that Deborah was sure was just him stubbornly deciding to agree with her for the sake of peace, going by the crinkle at the bridge of his nose; without another word, he turned his wrist to check his watch, and glanced over his shoulder towards the door, "Are we going then?"

"Not yet." Deborah replied, and powered by a reignited surge of excitement, she dropped his hands and reached behind her for the letter that she had dropped on the cushions, holding it out for him to take, "I have something to show you."

"What? What is it?" Martin asked as he took the letter, peering at her in confusion as he turned it over in his hands; it was just a bank statement, probably a response to all of their changes, but when his eyes fell on his name and address, Martin's expression lit up, and his lips began to curl upwards into his cheeks, "Oh! That came _here_?"

"Yes, Captain." Deborah answered, unable to keep the smile from her face as Martin didn't even bother to tear open the envelope, but simply sat forwards on the cushions, perched on the end of the sofa as if to leap up. For the last nine months all of his post had been forwarded from his old home, passed on by helpful students that had printed his new address over his old one.

"And it wasn't forwarded from Parkside?" Martin checked, holding the letter tight enough in both hands that it crumpled slightly as he gestured with it towards her.

"No." Deborah replied warmly; this was an important moment for him, as ridiculous as it sounded, and perhaps teasing was something that could wait until later, "Straight here."

"That is…" Martin seemed to watch the letter in awe, as if he were thrumming with some power that it possessed; then he really did leap to his feet, and made a joyous little hop of triumph as he spun on his heels to face Deborah and exult at her, "Yes! They know I live here!"

"It's only the bank Martin." Deborah remarked slowly, quirking an eyebrow at him as she rearranged herself, swinging her legs back onto the floor and sitting forwards, ready to follow him when he inevitably sprinted away.

"But they're acknowledging that we live together!" Martin emphasised, his grin so wide that his flushed cheeks faded somewhat into the background of his face, "The bank sent a letter, to _this_ address! That means I officially live here!"

"You've lived here for nine months." Deborah reminded him drolly, as she watched him straighten up and start tearing into the envelope, pulling out the wad of documents that he was bound to try and read before they left the flat.

"Not according to the bank, or the council, or my sister…" Martin muttered, rolling his eyes as his eyes scanned back and forth, and he began to pace around the coffee table.

"Alright Darling," Deborah groaned, as she hoisted herself to her feet and followed his tracks until she could place her hands on Martin's waist and direct him towards the front door, "you can relish the thoughtfulness of Barclays for checking your personal details in the car."

oOoOoOo

Carolyn's wrath at them being an hour late for work was tempered somewhat by the fact that she was still feeling queasy from a week of bed-rest and sickness, and the mountain of paperwork that neither Martin nor Deborah had really felt in a position to complete without their CEO.

In light of that, they had decided to simply get on with the preparations for today's flight without complaint, which was how Deborah found herself wandering up to the Tower to find Karl and file the flight-plan, before making her lazy way back to the porta-cabin. The lads were sorting out the actual plane preparations, or so she had thought; when she actually entered the porta-cabin, it was to find Carolyn sitting behind _her_ desk (not shunning their company as she had threatened to do), and Arthur lounging on the sofa, feet up, and no Martin in sight.

"Is the cargo all packed?" Deborah inquired as she came to lean back against Martin's desk, propping herself up with her arms outstretched behind her.

"Yep, I got it all in, even though Mum said that I wouldn't be able to." Arthur replied proudly, kicking his feet down and leaning forwards with his arms rested on his knees as he engaged her, and answered the unasked question, "Skip's just checking something he saw on the load-sheet."

"I'm sure he is." Deborah drawled, bringing a hand forwards to inspect her nails; along with his renewed vigour devoted to resurrecting MJN, Martin had also become extremely hands-on when it came to making sure that everything was perfect before each flight, taking the title of Captain to heart in a way he hadn't before, if such a thing was possible, "I saw quite a lot of boxes; who is it we're flying for?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he might be a zoo keeper." Arthur informed her, with the pinched anticipation of a highly dubious yet thrilled spaniel; Deborah raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side, glancing towards Carolyn, who had apparently been listening the whole time.

"I didn't ask too many questions," Carolyn explained curtly, as she continued to scratch away at the paperwork spread out around her, "Lord knows I didn't want to talk to the overly excitable American who was rude enough to mention that _he_ would be taking Easyjet back to Brazil while _we_ carry his things."

"Of course not, because that would be the height of stooping to talk to such a scoundrel." Deborah remarked, nodding sagely before turning her attention back to Arthur, "What makes you think he's a zookeeper, Arthur?"

"Oh, just the boxes that he left for us to fly." Arthur explained unhelpfully, shrugging as if it were no matter; he could be wrong of course, knowing his particular skills of deduction, but that didn't stop the tremor of trepidation from prickling in Deborah's guts, "They're brilliant."

"I bet they are." Deborah drawled wryly, giving Arthur one last smile before plucking one of her pens from the desk and tapping the page that Carolyn was currently working on, "You're not joining us then? I would have thought you'd have loved a weekend away after spending all week stuck indoors with the flu."

"Stuck indoors with Herc more like." Carolyn scoffed, shaking her head disdainfully at the very idea, even though Deborah knew that she was relishing every moment that Herc got to spend away from Switzerland nowadays, "Flu, I can handle with my teeth bared; Herc on the other hand is even more of a hindrance when he thinks he's being helpful than Arthur is."

"How romantic." Deborah remarked, choosing to let the matter lie; she cared enough, loathe as she was to admit it, not to linger on the fact that Carolyn had managed in typical fashion to come down with a horrible illness in the very same week that Herc was returning to England for the first time in three months.

"It was." Arthur exclaimed, lumbering on after the uptake as usual, oblivious to Carolyn's sharp glare, from across the room, "He stayed all week and tried to get Mum to drink medicinal soup; it was very brave."

"Quite." Carolyn acknowledged reluctantly, refusing to look up as Deborah smirked at her from across the desks, "Nevertheless, I have no desire to move from one humid and horrible location to another, so I'm staying here."

"Never mind." Deborah sighed dramatically, pushing away from the desks to tread sluggishly towards the sofa, "We'll have fun, just the three of us, won't we Arthur?"

"_Yeah_." Arthur agreed confidently, rising to his feet at the sign of a single hand gesture, "I've been practicing that game you told me about, and I'm almost sure that I could beat Martin if I put my mind to it."

"If you don't leave this room right now and get on the plane, you won't be doing anything, because I will have strung you up and left you outside for the crows to devour." Carolyn announced, raising her voice as her voice petered off with the residual strain of illness; her glare wasn't even slightly hindered.

"Aw…it was things like this that persuaded me to work for you in the first place. Such happy memories." Deborah drawled, placing a hand over her chest even as she strode towards the door, and held it open, letting the early morning breeze clip at her heels, "Come on Arthur."

oOoOoOo

When the two of them came to walk around GERTI, who was now shining with a newish lick of paint and glinting in the sun, Arthur built up a sort of background hum as he talked about something or other that Deborah wasn't really listening to; she was more interested in glancing at the Hold, which was still wide open, though the insides were dark and invisible in the blinding sun. Martin should have been done by now; she supposed that he was just being particularly picky this morning.

Nevertheless, Deborah made sure that she and Arthur walked as near to the Hold as they could when passing, which turned out to be a good thing; as they momentarily blocked out the light, they must have alerted Martin to their presence, as his voice rang out, loud and echoing from within.

_"Debs! De-Debbie- Deborah_!"

She didn't respond at first, still unused to turning her head at anything other than her full name (and even that when the mood was right), so she was completely out of sight of the Hold before she came to a stop, and turned, waiting for Martin to appear, though he didn't.

Deborah felt herself smile slightly as Martin's voice registered finally in her head; there had always been something about their relationship that…she couldn't even put her finger on it, but in the last few months, it felt like whatever it was had vanished, and any barriers, or semblances of formalities were gone along with it.

Martin was still insistent that he called her by her full name, and didn't seem keen on shortening it (Deborah was sure that it was a lingering jealously, as he knew that in recent years, only her exes had been on such good terms with her). Yet, about two months ago, he had started; Deborah had been surprised when the first 'Debs' or 'Debbie' had slipped out, to the point that it didn't even cross her radar; she simply didn't respond to it.

And Martin was always quick to correct himself; but he couldn't seem to help it. It slipped out as comfortably and thoughtlessly as 'dear', or 'darling', which led Deborah to believe that even though Martin was trying with all his might not to shorten her name, she was too endearing for him to do anything else. She still wasn't sure whether she liked it, but the fact that his barriers had fallen to such an extent was…thrilling…she loved him so much.

"Yes Darling?" Deborah called into the Hold; when no answer came, she turned to Arthur and lay a hand on his arm, nudging him towards the metal stairs, "Go on ahead and make sure the Cabin's cross checked."

"Right-o." Arthur replied cheerfully, and obediently disappeared from her side; his feet on the steps could be heard clunking even as Deborah turned her back on him and ducked into the sparsely lit Hold.

It was hard to see, but Deborah could understand what Arthur had meant when he had said that there were a _lot_ of boxes; crates and steel containers were piled to the ceiling, and filled enough space that she had to tread quite far inside before her eyes fell on Martin, rocking on his heels as he surveyed the cargo, a clipboard and pen in his hands.

"Deborah." Martin greeted her when she moved to his side, smiling down at her indulgently as if he had forgotten why he had called her in the first place; Deborah laced her arm through his and curled her hand around his elbow, enjoying the closeness, but didn't cease from glancing around to find the source of his discontent, as there had to be one, "There you are."

"Here I am." Deborah repeated fondly, tilting her head back to meet his gaze, and take in the affectionate glint in his eyes; anyone would think that she never did as she was asked.

"Yes, hello." Martin replied warmly, still gazing down at her; then he seemed to snap back into awareness, and was business-like once more, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders back, "Come look at the cargo."

"Is it not stacked to your liking, Captain, or are you having trouble with your sums?" Deborah inquired daintily, nudging him gently in the side as she turned to do as she was asked, and ran her eyes over the hefty crates; as expected, nothing had changed in the last two minutes.

"As if you'd be any help with the calculations." Martin snorted, his chest rumbling with restrained chuckles as Deborah let out an insulted little huff, and slipped her arm from his, winding both of hers instead around her chest.

"Excuse me." Deborah said curtly; she gave Martin a moment to feel suitably sheepish, before she turned back to him and nodded towards the crates, "Right, I'm looking at the cargo Martin, and I'm not seeing anything wrong with it."

"That's because it's dark, and Arthur's stacked the wooden boxes in front of the glass boxes." Martin explained matter-of-factly; despite the pointed glare that she was sending his way, he still reached around her carefully held arms to take her hand in his, which was enough to make her begin to forgive his attempt at teasing her, "Come round here, you can see better."

Deborah allowed Martin to lead her around the corner that had been created by Arthur's eclectic stacking, to where, just as he had promised, there sat a row of lowly piled boxes that appeared to be made of reinforced glass. It was too dark to properly see what was inside of them, so Deborah released Martin's hand and stepped closer, bending down to peer inside, as she felt Martin do the same at her side.

"Oh…what are…" Deborah murmured, as she caught a flicker of movement inside the box nearest to her; the sun must have shifted outside, as a moment later a thin branch of light filtered over the top of the crates, and allowed her such a view, that she might actually have leapt back, placing her hands out in front of her like a useless barrier, "Oh, no, Martin! You know I don't like creepy crawlies!"

The sight of the various, and many, creatures housed within the glass cases made Deborah's stomach churn, and her bones themselves seemed almost as if they might freeze into stone and then retract if she moved any closer. From top to bottom of the pile, she couldn't identify all of them, but Deborah could pick out at least four types of lizards, hundreds of winged creatures all bunking together, all manner of disgusting things like spiders that could eat her palm and scorpions, and then some other things that…she didn't even want to imagine.

"I'm not asking you to touch them," Martin remarked, placing a hand on her back; it was supposed to be comforting, but Deborah just wriggled as it felt like he was pushing her towards the creatures, "I'm just asking you to look at them."

"Looking at them is making me feel as if I'm touching them." Deborah retorted petulantly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to alleviate the phantom itching that had started up beneath her skin.

"It's not that bad." Martin snorted, and he stepped past her to stand beside the glass cages and tap at the glass, flinching when the animals touched the other side, but not moving away as he glanced back at Deborah, so obviously showing off.

"It is." Deborah replied, but something about seeing Martin overcome his fears steeled her nerves; she came to stand at his side, and let him cover her hand with his, and bring it up to tap at the glass of various cages, like one would with a small child and hot things, "Well…I suppose the lizards aren't too bad…and the butterflies are alright…" she pulled away as Martin tried to tap the box containing the scorpions, "I don't like these shifty looking characters."

"Why are there so many of them?" Martin inquired, going so far as to lean over the boxes to try and get a closer look, his face scrunching adorably as he did so.

"Arthur thinks our client's a zookeeper." Deborah answered thoughtfully, though she came no closer, content to let Martin explore; perhaps this once, Arthur was right in his suspicions, "I wouldn't be surprised if he needed this many for some sort of research, or breeding programme."

"Lovely…" Martin remarked, in a tone of voice that acknowledged that it was anything but; he stood straight once again, and retreated to a safe distance, using the hand not occupied by a clipboard to flatten the lapels of his jacket, "but that's not why I asked you to come in here."

"Yes, I was wondering why you asked me in here knowing full well that I wouldn't like it." Deborah drawled restrainedly, keeping one eye on the animals, which were now flustering about as if they knew they were being disturbed, and one eye on Martin.

"We need to move the animals inside the Cabin." Martin declared, in the no nonsense voice he used when he _knew_ that Deborah was going to argue; his lips were pressed together, and in another world, he could have been balancing a lemon on his nose for how prim his expression was.

"No." Deborah replied shortly; there was no chance that she was allowing that to happen.

"Not no," Martin shot back, shaking his head and visibly fighting a smile at her expense, as if he were enjoying her discomfort, "because these are really delicate, and we need to strap them into the seats in the Cabin where Arthur can keep an eye on them, and not leave them in the Hold where they might get smashed and die."

"Still no." Deborah refused to budge on the matter; she folded her arms even more tightly over her chest as Martin tried to placate her by placing gentle hands on her elbows, "I don't want these inside the plane."

"Yes, well, that may be, but _I'm_ the Captain," Martin said smugly, smirking as Deborah narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips, "and I'm having Arthur move these in the Cabin, whether you like it or not."

"I'm your girlfriend, and I can refuse to let you sleep in my bed tonight." Deborah retorted salaciously, cocking her head to the side; that normally worked, she was sure that it would this time.

"Brazil's a hot country." Martin remarked brightly, proudly, completely unaffected by her threat as he tapped his clipboard lightly against her nose, "That might not be a bad thing."

"Fine." Deborah gritted out, squaring her jaw and stubbornly glaring him down; if she wasn't going to win this, then there was no point fighting at all, or helping for that matter, "But I'm going to wait in the flight-deck-"

"Hide in the flight-deck." Martin sniped playfully, as he turned away from her to return to his inspection of the cargo.

"Wait in the flight-deck," Deborah repeated, just a little louder and more clearly, as she glared at Martin's back, "and get GERTI ready to go."

"Alright." Martin replied cheerfully, shooting her a pleasant smile over his shoulder, too full of himself to be anything other than a highly charged smirk, "Send Arthur out when you pass him."

oOoOoOo

The flight-deck was humming, the engines were whirring calmly and waiting for a change to do their stuff; Deborah might have been against Martin and Arthur strapping the glass boxes to the passenger seats, but she had accepted that it was probably the most sensible idea, and it would keep Arthur occupied for most of the flight.

"Pre-take off checks complete?" Martin inquired professionally, glancing across the gap between them as he reached above his head and flicked a switch, pausing when he had done this to wait for her response.

"Complete, and waving us goodbye as we prepare in turn to bid them adieu." Deborah replied, turning her head as she leant back against the hard padding of her seat to share a warm smile with her Captain; she was beginning to forgive him already, no matter what she had said before, unable to shake the tingling heat that wafted around her lungs just from the thought of him.

"Thank you, dear." Martin hummed and grinned at her, and just like that she didn't even need to forgive him anymore; he leaned forwards to hold down the intercom button, the smile lingering on his lips, "Arthur, are we ready to go?"

"_No, not really Skip."_ Arthur's voice came through the speakers, and the flush faded from Martins' cheeks at the tone of it.

"Well, why not?" Martin demanded, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as he hunched forwards with the force of it; a prickle of trepidation alighted in Deborah's guts and her fingers clenched reflexively over the arms of her seat.

"_Because there's a bit of a problem. I um-"_ Arthur trailed off, the guilt evident in his voice.

"W-what sort of problem?" Martin asked, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself, not that it was doing any good.

"Arthur, what have you done?" Deborah inquired more forcefully when no answer came; knowing what she knew was in the Cabin, she couldn't help but feel just a bit anxious at the thought of things going wrong.

"_Nothing on purpose." _Arthur explained hastily, his voice crackling as he presumably leaned away from the intercom in preparation for a scolding, _"But- I think…it's a big enough problem that maybe you should turn the engines off and come and help me."_

"Oh god, what do you think's happened?" Martin asked, his voice filled with dread as he turned off the intercom and sat stiffly back in his seat, turning to Deborah with eyes full of horror and blanched cheeks.

"I dread to think." Deborah muttered, quirking her eyebrows nonchalantly, though she didn't feel it; they couldn't just ignore his plea for help though, "Don't switch everything off yet, let's find out what tragedy awaits us."

oOoOoOo

While Martin and Arthur stood on either side of a now suspiciously empty glass container, sans its lid, one red faced and furious, the other pale and guilty, hands wringing together, Deborah stood back from the two, arms folded over her chest, feet shifting every few seconds, and eyes darting up and down the aisle, unable to find what they were looking for.

"What do you mean it fell?" Martin demanded shrilly, gripping the edges of the container like a lifeline and his head turned from side to side, desperately trying to spot one of the creatures that had hidden in the time it had taken the pilots to enter the Cabin, "How does a heavy, glass box full of live animals just fall?"

"It wasn't strapped in properly, and they were all moving so much that it fell off the seat." Arthur explained indignantly, as he waved a hand through the air to encompass the chair and the box, and its previous path.

"Oh, Arthur-" Martin started to groan, but Arthur raised his hands in a sign of surrender and cut him off.

"No, it's not awful, not like you make it sound." Arthur interrupted, plastering on a hopeful smile as if optimism might get them through the day, "The box is still in one piece, we just need to find them and put them back inside."

"Arthur, which animals were in this particular box?" Deborah inquired, as Martin sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation; after seeing which boxes were still full, she didn't have high hopes.

"That would be the scorpions." Arthur replied matter-of-factly, digging his hands into his pockets as he swayed on his heels.

"_What!"_ Deborah exclaimed, as Martin made a sharp, shrill, high-pitched noise that might have been a squawk, or might have been a scream; as she scrambled backwards in a flash, hoisting her feet from the ground and settling with her knees pulled to her chest, Deborah heard a thud and a squeak as Martin leapt onto the seat of the opposite aisle, still standing, arms wrapped around the back of the seat.

There was a moment of complete silence, in which the three of them stared at the floor, Arthur not having moved at all, and then Deborah lifted her eyes to meet Martin's; the initial flash of terror had faded, but she was still uncomfortable, like a niggle in her throat, and the slight smirk emerging on Martin's lips didn't help that.

"You know, Deborah, I don't think I've ever seen you move so fast." Martin remarked smugly, his eyes tracing over her form as his smirk grew all the wider, regardless of her discomfort.

"Say that again when you're not screaming like a little girl and wobbling on top of the seats." Deborah drawled, wrinkling her nose at him from across the aisle; they could both play that game.

"Yes, alright!" Martin snapped, batting a hand at her and wobbling where he crouched; his eyes darted here and there, as if he could sniff out a scorpion from its lair through willpower alone, "I can't see them, where are they?"

"Probably hiding under the seats, or in the walls, waiting for you," Deborah replied darkly, smirking as his eyes blew wide and his hands gripped the back of the seat all the more tightly, "imagining the sweet taste of Crieff before they move in for the kill."

"Deborah!" Martin exclaimed furiously, his cheeks flaring with exertion as he glared at her; he deserved it, she thought, for making fun of her.

"No, it's alright guys." Arthur announced, walking down the aisle between them, not a trace of fear in his posture as he held out the glass container for them both to see, "The box says that they're not poisonous, or fatal- see, there's no skull and cross bones either."

"They still sting though, no matter how poisonous they are." Deborah muttered, turning away from him to stare at the floor beneath Arthur's feet, anticipating the appearance of the horrible, shelled creatures that she had seen before; nobody took any notice of her however.

"Arthur, this is very important, and I need you to answer me as best you can." Martin spoke calmly and clearly, but he didn't lower himself down from his chosen perch, "How many scorpions were there."

"Um, more than I could fit in my hands," Arthur answered, gazing into the middle distance in thought as he tried to remember; far too much of a strain for him, Deborah imagined, "and they shot off in all directions."

"Okay, o-okay…" Martin let out a few, stuttering exclamations, and made a valiant attempt at steadying his breathing, "When I looked before, there were about ten- o-or maybe twenty."

"What does it say on the box?" Deborah interjected, before he could go any further.

"Fifteen." Arthur replied, coming closer and holding it out for her to read the label; he was right.

"Oh, wonderful." Deborah groaned, rolling her eyes for the sake of having nothing else to do as she glare from one end of the Cabin to the curtain at the other end, still catching no glimpse of the creatures, "There are currently fifteen scorpions wandering unattended through the Cabin – and the Galley, now that I think about it."

"Thank god the flight-deck seals shut." Martin noted, sounding almost relieved, though Deborah couldn't imagine what he had to be relieved about, seeing as they were currently trapped on the ground in a tin can filled with scorpions.

"Precisely." Deborah agreed with a facsimile of cheer, plastering on a jaunty smile as she glared at Martin as if this were all his fault; in a way, it sort of was, "No tiny hijackers today; the CAA's rules have finally proved their worth on GERTI."

"Look!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hand out to point across the aisle, jumping as if startled; Deborah's head snapped in tandem with Martin's to follow the trail of his gesture, "There's one, by your foot Deborah!"

Just like that Deborah's eyes fell on the horrible brown creature that could have spanned her palm, scuttled past the feet that she hadn't realised she had lowered to the floor; before she had time to think about it, she snatched her knees back up to her chest and then hopped onto her heels, letting out a muffled, truncated squeak.

The scorpion scuttled away, and Deborah settled back down, brushing her hair behind her shoulders and pressing her lips together as she met Martin's eyes across the aisle; she hadn't noticed at the time, but he must have reached out to her when she had startled because he was leaning across from his seat, hand outstretched as if for her to take.

Deborah didn't know what he was trying to do, be it trying to help her or panicking and then freezing, but the concerned lilt of his features was enough to quell her annoyance, as his fingers flexed towards her; they might bicker and fight, but she knew that they loved each other enough that Martin could tell when she was genuinely upset, and try to put an end to it.

"Don't you say a word." Deborah warned him, even as she reached across to link her fingers with Martin's, soaking in the faint smile that fluttered onto his lips; she hated the bloody animals so much, but she wasn't going to admit to it.

"So…" the sound of Arthur's voice, as he rocked on his heels and clasped his hands together, drew Deborah back to the present, "what are we going to do?"

"I'm…" Martin began, then stopped, his cheeks flushing as he ducked his head and gnawed on his lips; Deborah peered at him across the aisle for a moment, and was mildly surprised when he dropped her hand and squared his shoulders, pushing his hat a little more securely atop his head, "I'm going to do it."

"Do what?" Deborah retorted, forehead pinching as she watched him inhale deeply and almost ground himself, slowly by surely lowering himself to the floor; miraculously, his luck didn't fail him, and no vermin scuttled out to get him.

"I'm going to catch the scorpions." Martin replied, adopting the poise of the stoic Captain that he thought he was; the picture would have been complete if his hands hadn't been clenching at his sides.

"Why don't you let Arthur do it?" Deborah suggested, trying not to sound as if she had little faith in him; she had a lot of faith in him…just not in this particular area, "He doesn't seem afraid."

"I'm not afraid." Martin insisted, pouting dreadfully at the very implication; he took another deep breath, and looked to where Arthur was waiting on the tips of his toes for instructions, "Besides, he can't catch them all himself, so one of us needs to be brave."

"Is that what you are is it?" Deborah drawled, quirking an eyebrow at him as she remained thoroughly huddled on her own seat; this was ridiculous, he was only going to get himself stung, and then keep her awake all night complaining that it hurt.

"Yes, actually, I am very brave." Martin replied indignantly, puffing out his chest as he spoke; the buttons stretched the material just a little bit more than they had a few months ago, but that was hardly something to complain about, "It's part of being a Captain."

"_Golly_." Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes at him; some things never changed.

"Yes, golly." Martin repeated, sticking his nose into the air and treading slowly to stand beside her row of seats, and extending his arm to her, "So, my first brave act is going to be helping sneak you across to the flight-deck before the scorpions catch us."

"I don't need hiding away if that's what you're implying." Deborah retorted, surveying his arm and ignoring the temptation to take it; instead, she remained curled up as far into the cushioned seat as she could, arms wrapped around her knees.

"That's not what I was implying." Martin sighed, exhaling through his nose as if in despair, although a faint smile began to reignite in his eyes; he knew by now how to reason past her own pride, "Someone needs to turn off the engines so that we don't waste any more electricity or fuel."

"Fine." Deborah conceded; she sat forwards far enough that she could see Arthur, and could get her feet to the floor when she needed to, ignoring Martin's victorious smirk, "Arthur, you can see down the aisle; is it clear?"

"Seems to be yeah." Arthur answered, as he peered down the aisle, checking up and down just for good measure; he topped his check off with a swift nod, and moved to perch on the edge of one of the seats to throw her a quick thumbs up, "Good luck!"

"Okay-o-kay." Martin began to splutter in anticipation, and he waved his hand at Deborah, ushering her to her feet and wrapping his arm around her back like a physical, albeit useless, barrier, "Here – Debs, come here, I've got you."

"Oh, my knight in shining armour." Deborah drawled sarcastically as she allowed him to hurry her along the aisle, stumbling slightly as he tripped and took her with him; it was too sweet an act for her to dissuade him, "What would I ever do without such a gallant Captain on my arm."

"Shut up, I'm being nice." Martin muttered as they neared the Galley; as if that was ever a reason not to tease him.

"That's beside the point, oh brave and fearless Martin." Deborah teased him, leaning up to press her lips fleetingly against his cheek; Martin stumbled to a halt as he blinked down at her, apparently in shock that his actions were working.

"Um, chaps, not to worry you," Arthur called out from behind them, "but I can see one behind you."

"Ah!" Martin cried out, and without even looking over his shoulder, he was pushing Deborah forwards and through the Galley; as much as she didn't want to be stung by scorpions, she couldn't help but laugh as he screamed, "Run!"

oOoOoOo

Apparently all it took to stir up Martin's innate courage was to lock him in a metal tube with a hoard of scorpions for an hour or two, and allow him to condition a fearless response in himself; Deborah only heard screams emanating from the Cabin for about twenty minutes before they were replaced by the sounds of clanging and cheers of triumph.

About half an hour after that, Deborah had grown bored, and deciding that she could survive the discomfort, braved the Galley and passed through to huddle on the front row of seats to watch Martin and Arthur rush from here to there, stumbling and making complete tits of themselves, and yet, getting the job done.

They had discovered, at some point when she had been gone, that by using the plastic jug Arthur used to make coffee, and one of the thin but sturdy table mats that Carolyn used to avoid having to wipe down the tray tables, they could catch the scorpions much like one would a spider in a cup, after, of course, stamping their feet and luring the beasts out from their hiding places.

Everything was going reasonably well until the Cabin door slammed open, and Carolyn appeared in the gap; thankfully, she pulled it closed behind her, but it was enough to make Arthur and Martin freeze like schoolboys caught with their hands in the someone else's drinks cabinet.

"What are you still doing here!" Carolyn demanded, red faced and practically seething as she took in the scene before her, bereft of any understanding, "You were supposed to be in the air two hours ago!"

"No reason-" Martin began to explain, trying to hide the jug in his hands behind his back, but Arthur beat him to the punch.

"We're catching scorpions." Arthur supplied matter-of-factly, oblivious to the horror that crossed his mother's face; on a scale of one to ten, this was definitely at least a thirteen in terms of awful things that had happened on board GERTI.

"You're what?" Carolyn asked, blinking at the three of them as if ancient Greek had been thrown at her; as always, it was Deborah that her eyes fell to for an explanation, just as her gaping mouth sealed shut.

"Catching scorpions." Deborah repeated, bringing herself forwards and slipping her legs through the gap underneath the seat's arm, but not allowing her feet to touch the floor, "We thought it best not to let them roam free during the flight."

"Why are they out in the first place?" Carolyn squawked, throwing her hands into the air; she didn't make a fuss about it, but she did walk slowly into the Cabin and perch right on the edge of one of the seats, surreptitiously tucking her feet in.

"Uh…um…" Martin trailed off and 'um-ed' as his eyes wandered first over Arthur, then back to the floor, and then to Deborah, as if she might provide answers for his flapping mouth to seize; instead, he simply grasped what might have been the first thing to float through his head, "Technical problems."

"Arthur dropped them didn't he?" Carolyn asked expectantly, sighing with weary exasperation in her very breath as she watched the men begin to move again, tiptoeing up and down the aisle.

"No, I didn't!" Arthur retorted, sending his mother as near to a glare as he could manage while wobbling like a stalk clumsily navigating a lake, arms held high on both sides, "They fell down on their own, I just didn't stop them in time."

"Either way, the result's the same." Deborah cut in before Carolyn could work herself up, "As it stands, there are two scorpions missing, and only one jug with which to catch them in."

"It shouldn't be too long though." Martin assured her, passing his jug from hand to hand as he rocked on his heels and span around, hunting like a deaf and blind cat sniffing in all the wrong places, "I'm getting quite quick at catching them."

"So am I." Arthur chirped from the other end of the aisle, not that anyone paid him any notice.

"Yes…oh, there's one!" Martin leapt into action as a scorpion scuttled out from beneath a seat in the centre of the aisle, and across his path; Deborah instinctively pulled her feet around to the front of her seat, but there was no need, as Martin slammed the jug down over it, trapping the creature within its translucent walls, "Got it!"

"Good, now put it away." Carolyn huffed, eyeing the animal with barely restrained disgust; a cursory glance said enough about how tucked in the older woman was, and Deborah couldn't help but smirk.

"Yes, uh…Arthur, where's the mat?" Martin asked, keeping one hand atop the jug as he knelt down beside it and waved the other through the air, searching around him as if the mat might magically appear within his reach, "I need the mat."

"Oh, I don't know." Arthur replied, turning a quaint little circle as he inspected the area, "You had it last."

"Well I put it down." Martin retorted, sounding as if he were biting his tongue in order to hold back a scold; he dropped his head into his free hand and the tension in his shoulders relaxed just a pinch, "Find it for me please."

While Arthur began to scramble around for the mat that one of them had misplaced, heading back in the direction of the Galley, Deborah sighed and looked away for a moment; only to glance down and see the scorpion lounging around underneath the seat in front of her.

"Oh- Oh – Martin!" Deborah _didn't_ squeak as she yanked her feet onto her seat and pulled her legs tightly against her chest; unfortunately, the motion must have unsettled the creature, as it began making its way towards her, bereft of its kin's fear as she tried to push back as far into the seat as was humanly possible, "Martin, there's one here by me! It's actually climbing to get to me!"

"I've only got one jug, you'll have to wait!" Martin called, not nearly as worried as he should have sounded; not that Deborah could see his face, preoccupied as she was by trying to kick the scorpion away with the tip of her shoes.

"I don't want to wait!" Deborah yelled, not bothering to fight the nagging need to move far, far away, but unable to actually do so, "Hurry up and kill it!"

"Don't kill it!" Carolyn scolded her, though she could talk, nice and safe on the other side of the Cabin, not a reason in the world to be worried, "The client is expecting all of his animals to make it there in one piece, do _not_ kill it!"

"I'm sure he won't mind if _one_ little scorpion gets squished." Deborah remarked bitterly, as she gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply, collecting herself, "It deserves it for trying to – ah – for trying to bite me!"

"Oh, for god's sake." Carolyn rolled her eyes dramatically, and Deborah could have very happily punched her in that moment, "This is the bloody spiders all over again."

"They weren't spiders!" Deborah hissed, spurred enough by the flare of anger in her chest to take her eyes from the scorpion that was merrily trying to crawl up the edge of the seat beside her, "They were big enough to be _vermin_!"

"I've got it Skip!" Arthur suddenly reappeared from within the Galley, waving a thin mat in his hand, and bounding towards where Martin was still crouched, pinning his trapped scorpion to the floor, "Here we go. Oh, Deborah, don't kick the scorpion."

"Thank you Arthur." Martin chirped when the mat was delivered into his hand; slowly and carefully, he went about scooping the scorpion up and carrying it steadily to its box, before returning swiftly to do the same with the one that was still clambering towards Deborah, like the persistent, stubborn, _Martin_, of the scorpion world, "See Deborah, I told you I would catch them all."

"You left me to fend for myself." Deborah snapped wanly as the beast was deposited, and the lid pressed firmly shut; now confident that she could place her feet on the floor, though still itching underneath her skin, her eyes followed Martin as he wandered back to stand beside her, one hand resting on the back of her seat.

"But I came through in the end." Martin replied, a fond smile settling onto his face as he looked down at her; trust him to take pleasure from seeing her uncomfortable and miserable.

"I'll consider this the benchmark of our relationship shall I?" Deborah inquired pithily, raising an eyebrow at him as she loosened the arms that were still wound around her chest; it was hard to stay mad at him when he looked at her like that.

"Why not?" Martin shrugged, his smile turning into a smug little grin as he straightened out his jacket and refastened his cuffs, "I'm sure I can do much better than _save_ you from a scorpion."

"Please stop," Carolyn demanded wearily, shaking her head and placing the tips of her fingers over her eyes, "this is making my head hurt even more than the knowledge that you're going to be stupidly late when you arrive in Brazil."

"Surely the man won't mind though." Arthur reasoned, as he lowered himself into one of the seats and looked between the three of them, ever the optimist, "All he'll care about it that his scorpions are safe."

"He won't know, because you won't tell him that they were ever unsafe." Carolyn instructed, making sure to glare pointedly at all three of them before she dared relieve her expression of the well masked exasperation.

"In short Arthur, I will do the talking, and you and Martin can unpack and deal with the animals." Deborah interjected, patting her knees down before she rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders back with a click from the time that she had spent hunched over.

"If you were looking for a benchmark Martin, that was it." Carolyn remarked dryly, looking between the two of them, "Deborah does all the talking but you'll be the one doing the heavy lifting."

"Yeah, well…that's not so bad." Martin replied, as he slipped an arm around Deborah's waist, pulling her close enough that he was a comfortable weight against her side; his cheeks flushed faintly as his cheek came to rest against her hair, "I think it works quite well."

oOoOoOo

"Today has taught me so many things." Martin sighed, as he lay back on the double bed and let Deborah wander around the hotel room, closing the curtains, kicking the flight-bags into corners where they couldn't be tripped over; his arms were outstretched either side of him, like wings, and when Deborah dropped down beside him, he hooked one around her waist, pulling her down to lie on her side.

"Oh really?" Deborah drawled indulgently, quirking her eyebrows at him playfully as she propped herself up on her elbow, and traced her fingers through his hair, relishing how he preened under her attentions, tipping his head back with each stroke, "Apart from how to catch a scorpion in under a minute?"

"It's taught me that even the scariest, most intimidating and hardy creature, has a beautiful inside and is really just a gentle, calm, peaceful thing, that should be marvelled at for the intricacies of its species." Martin explained, picking at her shirt and using his free hand to try and catch hers, winding their fingers together.

"You're not having a scorpion." Deborah told him immediately; there were some things that just weren't going to happen.

"Oh, god no! I don't want one." Martin insisted hastily, sitting up just a little as his eyes widened and he drew his bottom lip through his teeth, "That's not what I meant; it's just that for something so sharp, and dangerous looking, they're really perfectly lovely once you know how to handle them, and get to understand them."

"You're looking at me when you say that." Deborah remarked sharply; it was true, his eyes were _still_ tracing the lines of her face, "Martin, I dearly hope that you're not trying to be romantic by comparing me to a bloody scorpion."

"I'm not…" Martin replied, his lips pouting ever so slightly as he trailed off.

"Oh _really_, that's a relief." Deborah pretended to gasp, even as she rolled her eyes; then again, she though as Martin nodded in acceptance and let their hands fall, the fluttering in her chest was still very much present, and very particular in the fashion of the cartwheels that the moths were making, "But, you know…you were _very_ brave today."

"You think so?" Martin asked brightly, his expression easing once again in moments; he really was wonderfully easy to please. No pretending or falsification needed to keep him happy and content.

"Yes, of course." Deborah assured him, placing her hand on his chest and smiling indulgently down at him, "You were fearless; just what I needed."

"Thank you." Martin replied smugly, oh so proud of himself as he settled back down on his back, happy to just lie there together; Deborah however had other ideas, and sat back in his embrace, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and rising to her feet.

"I think I'm going to go and have a shower." Deborah remarked nonchalantly, grinning as she watched Martin rise up on his elbows at the loss of contact.

"Oh, alright." Martin nodded, sounding almost disappointed as his eyes followed her as she crossed the room towards the bathroom; she allowed him to disappear from sight for only a moment as she stepped inside, then curled her fingers around the frame, poking her head back out to see him flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"I wouldn't mind the company." Deborah announced suggestively, waiting patiently for him to catch on.

"_Oh_…" Martin exclaimed on a breath, and he seemed to rise like Dracula from his coffin until he could smile in wonder at her from across the room; the next moment he was a flurry of movement, almost rolling from the bed in a tangle of sheets that he hadn't even been in, "Give me one moment."

"The longer you take the more you miss." Deborah drawled, and with that, she ducked back into the bathroom, beaming as she heard his thudding and tripping in the other room; one glance in the mirror showed that she was looking fine, her smile far too wide for propriety's sake.

"No, Debs – Deborah!" Martin called, his voice petering off into a chuckle as Deborah began to giggle at the sight of the him falling in a tangle of limbs through the door in the mirror, knocking her gently towards the sink as he wrapped his arms around her from behind; all things considered, it hadn't been a bad day after all.

* * *

**So there we have it. A nice flight chapter to wet your taste buds. I hope you enjoyed that.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Aaannddd here's the next chapter. Thank you for reading and reviewing, it's much appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

It had been a while since they had had a flight that could be considered boring, but this one was remarkably dull, even by MJN's standards; Deborah wouldn't have minded the cargo flight so much if Martin had actually been in the flight-deck with her, but he wasn't. He was somewhere in the Cabin, talking on the phone, and had been for a while now; she wasn't entirely sure what about, but she didn't want to dig too deep in case he became defensive as he was wont to do.

Martin had been shifty for about a week now; it was nothing to worry about, nothing more than one of his odd moods, of that Deborah was certain. Yet, she couldn't help but feel jarred by it. If he had been in a bad mood, and been miserable, or angry, actively shunning her, she might have understood, and given him space before confronting him; but Martin wasn't, and Deborah didn't know how to deal with a Martin that was treating her perfectly, smiling and laughing, soaking up her attentions, and yet not quite there.

Perhaps he was just upset, or feeling the stress of running a company with only three colleagues and another job on the side…that was probably it. Either way, it still left Deborah alone in the flight-deck, slouched back in her seat with her legs kicked up on the control panel, crossed at the ankle, desperately grasping at ways to entertain herself.

The engines were humming and ready to be tended to, the lights were flashing, and nothing had fallen off yet (that Deborah hadn't fixed in seconds); all that was left to do was play with the intercom, and hope that Carolyn or Arthur were bothered enough by it to come and bother _her_.

"Greetings passengers, this is your First Officer speaking. _Don't Stop Me Now_, because _You And I_ need to talk about our flight today." Deborah drawled, smirking to herself as she spoke; she had spent ages working on this, so it was a pleasure to hear it crackling through the Cabin behind her, "You may think that what I'm saying is like some sort of _Bohemian Rhapsody_, all _Radio Ga Ga_, and you'd rather be in a _Bicycle Race_ than rushing _Headlong_ through the skies, but _Hang On In There_, because _We Are the Champions_ of air travel at MJN, and we have _One Vision_ of how our flights should proceed."

When no response came from the rest of the crew, Deborah continued, flicking idly at the loose button just above her right arm.

"You may be afraid of flying, of being _Under Pressure_ so high in the sky. You may want to scream, _Save Me_, and believe that soon you'll be weeping as _Another One Bites The Dust_." Deborah purred, playing the part of dutiful host even with a Cabin bereft of passengers to hear it, "But never fear, because our chief Steward Carolyn Knapp-Shappey is like a _Lily Of The Valley_, ready to cure your fears with _A Kind Of Magic _that only she knows, and Arthur Shappey shall be like _The Invisible Man_, helpful, but unseen because _Too Much Love Will Kill You."_

"Of course, there will be turbulence. _We Will Rock You_, but honestly; _Who Wants To Live Forever?" _Deborah announced, spurred on by the lack of response; they were ignoring her, and that couldn't be allowed, "You may notice during the flight that Ms Knapp-Shappey is particularly distracted, but I can assure you that that is simply a _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_, as she awaits her partner's return to sunny Blighty, _God Save The Queen_."

"It may also come to your attention that the Captain and I are particularly close, but what can I say? _It's Funny How Love Is_, and _Friends Will Be Friends_; we all need _Somebody To Love_, you know, one that makes you say things like, _You're My Best Friend_, and _You Take My Breath Away."_ Deborah mustered up her most dramatic tone of voice to conclude, "But, alas, I'm sure you're all waiting for the _Hammer To Fall_ on my little speech, or think that _I'm Going Slightly Mad_, that _I Want to Break Free_. The truth is, _I Want It All_; a safe and enjoyable flight to Stockholm, free of emergencies. So, on behalf of all of my crew, I wish you a happy flight, and pass you over to the cabin crew."

A moment passed, and then the speakers crackled, and Deborah listened with a smile on her face to Carolyn's exasperation; finally, some sort of response to fend off the boredom that she was experiencing.

"_Thank you Deborah." _Carolyn sighed down the intercom, beautifully irritated by her game; maybe she would come to the flight-deck and debate with her face to face, _"That would have been lovely if we actually had any passengers."_

"Did Martin hear it?" Deborah inquired nonchalantly; she had hoped that he would hear her various platitudes and recall his affections for her, abandon his phone call to come and spend time with her instead of arranging whatever he was arranging.

"_Yes, and he's grinning like an idiot." _Carolyn replied dryly; there was something in her tone that told Deborah that she wouldn't be gaining her company quite yet, _"He's still on the phone though, which means we_ can't take off!"

"Alright." Deborah groaned, kicking her feet down from the control panel; what was the point in even trying when the rest of them were too busy to spare her even a moment of their time, "Tell him I've got her ready to fly."

Carolyn didn't answer, and the intercom clicked silent; back to the drudgery then. Deborah was forced to endure only a few moments more alone though, before the door to the flight-deck swung open; of course, she mused, she shouldn't have underestimated Arthur so. The thought of him adhering to his work and staying in the Cabin shouldn't have even crossed her mind.

"Wow Deborah, that was brilliant!" Arthur declared as he rounded the jump-seat and came to perch on the edge of the Captain's seat; his hand appeared from where he had been hastily stashing a towel probably used to wipe down the flat surfaces, and he rested both on the arms of the seat, leaning in as if to give her his full attention.

Now that was more like it.

"Thank you, Arthur." Deborah replied, smiling proudly as she sat up straight and crossed one leg over the other, adopting a more professional posture; at least someone still appreciated her wit enough to indulge her, "I put a lot of effort into that."

"Yeah, it sounded like you did." Arthur exclaimed, his face lit up with just the right amount of impressed as he smiled at her; Deborah shifted around just enough that they could talk without having to turn at each word, folding her arms loosely over her chest, "Did I hear some Queen songs in there?"

"Twenty Nine." Deborah informed him briefly, sighing a little at the ripple of dejection that formed in her guts; it was nice to gloat with Arthur, but it would have been nicer to share her success with Martin, had he been there, "You should write that down, I think that's a record for any of my games."

"Will do." Arthur chirped, though he didn't make any move to do so, so presumably he would forget to do it later; his gaze wandered as he tried to recall and the corners of his lips pinched in thought, "I don't think any of us have gotten more than twenty five before."

"And Martin isn't even here to bask in my radiance." Deborah remarked wanly, letting her eyes drop to trace the arm of Arthur's chair and the mottled state of his buttoned cuffs, which looked and smelled as if they might have been stained with lemon cleaning fluid; she was self-aware enough to know that she shouldn't have been feeling so dejected now that she had her wish of entertainment, "Is he finished on the phone yet?"

"No, he wasn't when I passed through the Cabin." Arthur replied; then he seemed to sense the droop in Deborah's demeanour, and his voice dropped imperceptibly, and he hunched forwards just that little bit more, eyebrows dipping in the centre, "Who's he talking to?"

"I'm not sure." Deborah answered honestly, glancing towards the back of the flight-deck for just a second, as if Martin might walk through at any moment, "Someone from the hotel I think, though why he needs to call ahead is beyond me."

"You don't believe him?" Arthur asked cautiously, and Deborah almost startled at the sincerity in his voice; in anyone else she might have called it a flash of perception, but, seeing as it was Arthur, and that he was wrong, she simply smiled fleetingly, and then swallowed her falsity when it obviously didn't convince him.

"Oh no, I believe him; Martin's atrocious at lying to me." Deborah assured him, deciding to forgo trying to sound cheerful as she picked at the side of her thumb and avoided Arthur's gaze; it was true, there was no reason to suspect that Martin, who was the most decent man that she had ever met, was doing anything untoward, "I'm just worried about him, that's all."

"Why?" Arthur inquired, perplexed, as if he couldn't imagine a reason why she and Martin might need to be worried; for all she knew, he might have actually been that optimistic. The evidence certainly pointed towards such a conclusion.

"He's been a bit preoccupied this week." Deborah explained drearily, trying to sound as if it were less of a concern than it really was; she had tried not talking to people before, and it hadn't worked, but even though she was willing to share, she didn't want Arthur of all people to end up fretting about _her_, "I thought that maybe Icarus wasn't doing so well, but it's thriving with some sort of divorce boom this time of year."

"Is he ill?" Arthur continued, his concern sounding more like curiosity than anything else; he was trying his best to meet Deborah's gaze, tilting his head this way and that, but she ignored him, "Because sometimes when Skip isn't feeling well he pretends that he is and ignores the rest of us."

"I know he does." Deborah sighed, slumping back against the hard pads of her seat; she wasn't sure whether she wanted Martin to march in and interrupt or not, or whether she even wanted to know what was wrong with him, "He's not ill though, I checked. I think he's just in one of those moods…you know, the moods that people get into sometimes."

"Like the ones where they're not happy or sad, they're just…" Arthur added helpfully, trailing off when Deborah turned her head to lay her cheek against the back of her seat, and to meet his gaze.

"Exactly." Deborah agreed drearily, quirking her eyebrows for good measure; sometimes the world just didn't feel quite right, and there was nothing that could be done but to shrug shoulders and carry on, and hope that things got back to normal snappish.

"I'm sure he's fine though." Arthur assured her, batting a hand through the air before folding it back over his knees, using it to prop himself up; somehow, that seemed to set him up perfectly for his next bout of uncertain interrogation, his expression vacillating as if he knew what to say, but wasn't sure if he should say it, "Are you fine?"

"I'm always fine, Arthur." Deborah replied shortly; when she saw the way that his expression drooped just a little, the rush of guilt to her stomach made her sit a little straighter, to lean against the centre arm of her seat, and smile as best as she could, "Thank you, though, regardless."

"Naw, you're welcome." Arthur shot back, grinning as if the gesture were put on specifically for her sake; after a moment, he glanced away from her, his hand shifting to flick carelessly at what was mercifully the dud switch that she and Martin had taped up without really knowing what it was.

"So, Arthur…" Deborah started, then stopped and cleared her throat awkwardly as his eyes flicked back to hers, and he waited patiently for her to continue, a faint hum of recognition his only sound; she had wanted entertainment, and here he was, but Deborah had been nothing but a misery; it was time to rectify that, "Is anything interesting happening in your life lately? It's been a while since I caught up."

"No, not really." Arthur replied, shrugging as if it were no matter; but his voice took on that airy edge that Deborah had learnt to doubt in recent years, "My life's the same as ever, mostly."

"No girls?" Deborah inquired softly; if she was honest with herself, she was starting to worry about Arthur. He was as cheerful as ever, of course, and seemed to have no problem with the way that his life was going, but now that she was with Martin, and Carolyn was…something with Herc, it was a little troubling to see someone as lovely as Arthur alone.

Not alone…he had _them_. He deserved more, but he wasn't alone, per say.

"No." Arthur remarked regretfully, ejecting a puff of air through his lips like a shoddy lone ranger; just like that, Deborah realised that this would be the same sort of talk that they had once held in an empty bar in Ireland, "Mum says that I should go out and meet some, but I know what she means, and that's not really…it's not the sort of thing I'm good at."

"No, it's not is it." Deborah agreed solemnly, letting the corners of her lips curl encouragingly, as she lifted her hand to bump against his; Arthur may have been cherished lovingly by the three of them at MJN, but she was well aware that he wasn't adapted to the harshness of the real world; it would be a shame to taint his happy world view by forcing 'normality', "There aren't any other ways of meeting people? Points of common interest perhaps?"

"Well, yeah, that's a good idea, but…" Arthur started to explain, but he couldn't quite finish, and simply trailed off again, looking helplessly into Deborah's eyes until she felt uncomfortably like the brown orbs were begging her to make it better; maybe that was just her own flawed perception of her role talking.

"Your social life's not exactly thriving." Deborah concluded for him; she couldn't exactly lie for him.

"No." Arthur replied shortly, pouting just a tad as if he were disgruntled with his own social ineptitude; as sad as it was, it was true that what made Arthur so special, his rare ability to see the good in everything, and his startling perception for the moral good, was also what aided his isolation. Arthur Shappey, Deborah mused, was one of those acquired tastes that no one even tried because the colours were too blinding.

"What you need Arthur, is for a nice woman to fall from the sky." Deborah remarked wryly, smirking genuinely at him as she leaned across to thwack his elbow again, drawing him from his stupor before he could truly sink into it.

"Yeah." Arthur sighed, exhaling as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, propped in turn with his chin on his open palms, "But gently, so that she doesn't hurt herself."

"Hmmm." Deborah hummed fondly and sat back comfortably in her seat, hand still hanging in the air between them as she twirled it idly, "I know for a fact that there's a certain type of woman that would be blown away when you say things like that."

"Really?" Arthur's face lit up momentarily, and he seemed to inflate somewhat like a balloon at the idea; that was more like it.

"Yes." Deborah assured him; this was quite nice actually, sitting like a knowledgeable queen in her pilot's seat and distributing her wisdom with a smile and a relaxed swing in her limbs, "Even I can appreciate that you're a sweetheart, if not anywhere near my type."

"Thank you." Arthur replied, though he didn't seem quite so sure about whether she meant it.

"I mean it." Deborah promised seriously; she thought for a moment, and came up with nothing that might comfort him, which only served to steel her determination all the more, "Oh, there's got to be some way that _I_ could find someone for you, and just point them in your direction."

"Has your social life become more thrilling lately?" Arthur inquired sweetly; in anyone else, it might have been facetious, but Deborah decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his gaze didn't falter.

"I'm going to assume that you're being simple not smarmy." Deborah remarked dryly, schooling her expression which seemed to be wavering between a smirk and a frown.

"I'm not being rude." Arthur assured her quickly, waving his palms through the air in a universal sign of surrender, "It's just, the last I knew, even though you're _amazing_ at bars and around lots of people, you don't actually _do_ all of those things. You hang out with me, and with Skip; mostly with Skip, but with me too."

"Yes, I understand." Deborah stopped him before he could ramble much longer; there was only one thing that she could think of to help him, and although usually she would have discarded the thought, lately, she could use the distraction, "Arthur, if you really want to go out and meet people, then I would be happy to go with you and be social."

"You mean like at a bar?" Arthur replied, his forehead crinkling in bewilderment as he visibly tried to process the idea.

"Not necessarily." Deborah elaborated, already feeling her flash of inspiration begin to crumble under her own inspection, as she curled her hand through the air, little concentric circles giving her time to formulate sentences, "I'm sure there are social things in Fitton…book clubs?...societies?...quaint pubs where the regulars all know each other…"

On second thoughts, that was a terrible idea, and Arthur was fine how he was; the very last thing that Deborah wanted to be doing with her time was trawling around Fitton trying to fit in with people that she had never held any interest in before.

"Yeah…" Arthur nodded slowly, but he didn't sound convinced; thank the lord for small mercies, Deborah mused, "I've seen them, but it looks like you already have to be part of them to get in."

"Like cults." Deborah remarked, staring at the edge of the control panel as she recalled the few political gatherings, and large groups of people that she had actually witnessed in her many years living in Fitton, "That's the only problem with small towns like Fitton; unless you were born here and never left, you're on your own."

The door to the flight-deck swung open with a swish, and as Deborah turned to peer over the back of her seat, it was to see Martin striding in, head down as he slipped his phone into his pocket; Arthur rose to his feet immediately, and began slipping through the gap between the seats, and it wasn't until they were level that Martin lifted his chin.

"Oh, hello you two." Martin greeted them, a smile making its way onto his lips for only a moment before he was overcome with preoccupation and focused on Deborah, guiding Arthur past him with a waved hand, tripping slightly on his abandoned flight-bag, "Ready to go?"

"That we are, Captain." Deborah replied brightly, earning a quick nod as he dropped into his seat and began inspecting the controls; she tore her eyes from his faintly flushed face, swallowing a trickle of regret, and turned to catch Arthur's attention before he disappeared into the Galley, "Arthur, think about what I said, alright?"

"Alright." Arthur promised, nodding thoughtfully and smiling gratefully as he turned on his heel and stepped backwards through the open door, "Thanks Deborah."

With that the door swung shut and Deborah settled back into her seat, only to find Martin peering at her curiously, biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to appear that he wasn't as interested as he really was.

"What was that about?" Martin asked evasively; although his head was turned towards her, the rest of him was stiffly facing forwards, one hand curled around yoke. It was obvious that even though he had spent the past hour on his own, he was itching not to be left out of what had been going on elsewhere.

"Arthur's dreary social life." Deborah answered dramatically, releasing her poised posture and shifting until she was sat, back against her seat, ready to fly if needs be; she quirked her eyebrows at him, smiling wanly, hoping that this meant he was back to talking _normally_ to her, rather than skirting around a subject and then petering into silence as he had been recently, "It's reaching _our_ levels of dreariness."

"O-our life isn't dreary." Martin insisted, his eyes blowing wide as his eyebrows leapt to his hairline; he was unusually frantic as he said it, and Deborah couldn't help but wonder what had got him so worked up, like he was resting on a string pulled taut, "We go out all the time, all over the world."

"We barely spend time with other people." Deborah remarked fairly, cocking her head to the side as Martin still didn't relax, the tension in his shoulders actually increasing, until she was fighting the impulse to reach across and ease the knots herself.

"B-but we spend time with Carolyn, and Arthur, a-and with the grounds crew occasionally, a-and every now and then a foreign person talks to us." Martin stuttered, worryingly nervous for what on any other day would have been a conversation founded on teasing and frivolity, "W-why, are you unhappy?"

"What?" Deborah retorted, her expression pinching as she sat a little straighter, hands curling around the arms of her seat; that wasn't what she meant at all, not even a little bit, and Martin couldn't be allowed to think that for a moment, "No, I'm not unhappy, Martin, it was just a passing remark. If anything, being private people means that what might be social events for some turn into _romantic_ events; we couldn't do that if it wasn't just the two of us, now could we?"

There hadn't be any signs that there was something wrong with their relationship, not this time round, but Deborah's chest clenched and fluttered uncomfortably at how jumpy Martin seemed, even as he visibly made an effort to calm himself.

"N-no, I suppose not." Martin replied, plastering on a strained smile and blushing; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, knocking his hat forwards on his head, and stilled imperceptibly, though he continued to fidget, "Sorry, I just got worried then – n-not worried, I just, I-I-I, if you wanted to do more _things_, l-like…um…uh…social things…uh…"

"No, Martin, I don't want to." Deborah assured him hastily, reaching across the gap between them to take his hand and hold it, squeezing firmly, so that there couldn't be a flicker of doubt in his mind as to how she felt, "If anything, I get out of the house _more_ since we got together than I did when I was on my own."

"Okay. That's okay." Martin murmured, once he had stared into her eyes for a moment that felt like a lifetime; she didn't know what he was looking for, or why he looked so confused, the bridge of his nose crinkling adorably, but that had to be good enough for now, "Um, post take-off checks?"

oOoOoOo

Half an hour into the flight, and despite Deborah's many attempts to get Martin to take part in her game, he remained worryingly detached, responding to her pleasantly, only to drift off into thought immediately, gazing wordlessly into the sky with a little crease sitting at the bridge of his nose.

It wasn't as if Martin was ignoring her; he replied to everything that Deborah said to him. Then he stopped and went back into his own little bubble of a world, that apparently she wasn't allowed to be a part of. That was what was so upsetting; Deborah tried to quash the niggling of discomfort in her guts, but she just couldn't.

The best thing about Martin was that he was _always_ talking to her, be the subject matter good or bad, he was almost never silent; the odd lack of communication was eerily familiar, and she didn't like it. But rather than suspect Martin of the crimes that her previous partners had committed, her trust in him complete despite his general incompetence, Deborah instead sat and mulled over the churning in her abdomen that said _she_ must have being doing something wrong.

"Martin, are you alright?" Deborah inquired tentatively, when the strain of waiting for some sign became too much; she glanced briefly at his face, long enough to see the look of surprise flash across his cheeks, before she focused on the flashing of the controls under her hands.

"Yes." Martin replied quickly, his shock genuine; there was no doubt about that, nor in the way his fidgeting ceased and he turned to stare at her, confusion pinching every inch of his face, as if she had sprouted wings in front of him, "Why wouldn't I be alright?"

"Good…good." Deborah muttered, aiming for nonchalance but missing entirely; that left only one reason for Martin's distance from her, and it was better to talk it through before she could lose the nerve; she and Martin were good at talking, "So…am I doing something wrong?"

"What?" Martin sounded as if she had spoken the most shocking thing known to man, and stared at her in disbelief; she didn't lift her gaze, but could feel his eyes on her, and his hand hovering inches above hers, "No, of course you're not! Why would you even think that?"

"Because, and forgive me if I'm wrong, you've been a little…" Deborah sighed, and lifted her chin, meeting Martin's gaze and instantly choking on a surge of guilt at the light in his eyes that threatened to topple over the precipice into hurt, "Distant this week."

"Have I? I-I didn't mean to." Martin spoke slowly, and carefully, and Deborah schooled her expression as she watched the emotions wash over his face; then he stared into the middle distance, 'oh-ing' as if in understanding, and slumped back into his seat hard enough to make her jump, throwing his palms over his face to let out a groan, "Oh, _god_, I'm _sorry_ – you're not doing anything wrong, I promise. I love you so much, you're not doing anything wrong."

"Okay…alright…" Deborah said softly, hurriedly, nudging the controls and then leaning across the gap between them to place a soothing hand on Martin's upper arm; at her touch he dropped his hands onto the arms of his seat, and turned his head, hat tipping atop it as he rested against the back of his seat, "Then what's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter." Martin groaned hopelessly, he slipped his arm from her grasp and clasped the same hand around hers, winding their fingers together and blinking imploringly at her, "Deborah, honestly, there's nothing wrong."

"Then what-" Deborah started, before Martin could cut her off; there _was_ something wrong, that much was obvious, and he _knew_ what it was. He just wasn't telling her.

"I'm…there's a lot on my mind at the moment." Martin explained wearily; he made it sound as if that were a weight off his chest, but Deborah thought that he had simply shifted it onto hers, "That's all."

"Things that you can't share with me?" Deborah asked curtly, trying her best to hide the prickle of a pout that threatened to appear on her lips; it wasn't the law that he shared everything with her, even if she wished it so.

"N-n-no I _can_ share – I _will_ share." Martin assured her, giving her hand a little squeeze and smiling as if it were good to be sharing; if only he actually _was_ sharing, the humming of the engines wouldn't seem like such an invasion on their space, "Just, not yet, g-give me a little while, then I'll fill you in."

"Okay." Deborah replied, possibly a bit too quickly; if he didn't want to tell her, then he didn't have to. That was fine, she wouldn't nag; let him keep his secrets…it couldn't be too bad, he wasn't talented enough to lie to her for any length of time.

"Debs, honestly, everything's alright." Martin insisted, clearly not getting the message that she was sending as she turned until she was facing the sky, and ran her eyes over the control panel, pretending to check the meters, "I promise, there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried." Deborah retorted, pulling her hand from his under the guise of tapping the altimeters.

"If you say so." Martin muttered, exhaling audibly and retracting his hand, as if it were her that was being strange, "I promise, we're fine."

"And I believe you." Deborah replied shortly, turning back to shoot him a stiff smile, tucking her hair behind her shoulders and settling back as well as she could; she did believe him. She had no doubt that he was deep in thought about something or other, and that if he said he would tell her, then he would…that didn't make it any easier to accept that and put her own pride aside.

"Really?" Martin asked, blue eyes boring hopefully into hers, as his fingers rapped nervously on the controls; oh, it was horrible of him to hold such sway over her…but the fluttering it instilled in her chest still held that familiar warmth that she rather liked.

"Really." Deborah informed him, sighing and letting her eyes flutter closed before she met Martin's gaze, smiling as genuinely as she could this time, "We're alright."

"Good, yes we are." Martin agreed, in his Captainly voice, nodding and then falling silent; the silence only lasted for a moment though, as this time he fidgeted and shot her sideways glances; apparently her words had had an impact, "Right…wh-what was the game you had going?"

oOoOoOo

Normally it was Martin's job to sort out the arrival at the airport; talking to the managers, ordering more fuel, all of those sorts of things were the Captain's job according to him, and he had done them on each flight that he had been on since the start of his employment. Not today however; today he had told Deborah that he had to run ahead to sort something out, and now she was ticking off the finishing touches and dismissing the grounds crews, with no Captain in sight.

"Where's Martin gone _now_?" Carolyn demanded as she sidled up to Deborah, watching the manager turn his back and walk away; apparently she wasn't the only one to notice the odd edge to Martin's behaviour. The last hour of the flight had gone pleasantly, and Martin had been his usual chatty self; however, that did nothing to alleviate the uncomfortable chill in the pit of Deborah's lungs.

"He's run ahead to the hotel to 'finalise' things." Deborah replied wanly, folding her arms over her chest; then she paused instead of stepping away, and turned to glare, eyebrows knitted, down at Carolyn, "Why _is_ he in charge of the hotel today? I thought that was your job."

"Oh, I don't know, and I don't particularly care." Carolyn remarked flippantly, straightening her suit jacket out, although it was barely out of place from watching the cargo get unloaded; when she clocked the expression on Deborah's face, her tone softened slightly, as if she were excusing herself, "He asked and I let him. One less thing for me to do."

"I care." Deborah pouted, glancing towards where Arthur was emerging from within GERTI when Carolyn's stare became too unsettling; she didn't shuffle her feet, but it was extremely tempting, "He's left me to sort out all of _his_ normal jobs."

"You mean the calculations and ordering more fuel?" Carolyn snorted, cocking an eyebrow and surveying Deborah's petulant posture; she shook her head and smirked with a sour enjoyment, the sort that she always got when she thought that Deborah was flailing, "I think it's wonderful seeing you scrunch your face up as you try and force Martin's menial tasks through your brain."

"I'm perfectly capable." Deborah retorted, rolling her eyes and fixing her expression and blinking back at the older woman; it was a terrible habit that the others had gotten into, doubting her abilities and teasing _her_ for once, "I _was_ doing all of this on my own when I was your only employee."

"I remember those days…" Carolyn remarked nostalgically, grinning sadistically and gazing into the distance, a hand over her heart, "MJN was at its most sluggish and debt ridden."

"I'm done with the hovering." Arthur announced as he appeared at Carolyn's shoulder, before Deborah could do much more than scrunch her nose up and sneer at her; he seemed as proud of his task as he ever did, and oblivious to Deborah's disdain, "Are we heading to the hotel now?"

"I don't know." Carolyn replied cheerfully, placing her hands in her pockets and shifting to fall into place beside Arthur, "Are we finished Deborah, or do you need more time to do your sums?"

"We're done here." Deborah sighed, taking one last look at the bustling hangar; there was no point putting off the inevitable, "Let's go and see how much damage Martin's managed to cause on his own."

oOoOoOo

Deborah's day just kept getting odder, and by now, she would be perfectly happy just getting into bed and going to sleep; it would be so much easier if Martin was either treating her well, or badly, but as it was, she had no idea how she was supposed to be reacting to him. It wasn't that she wanted to fight…but it would be simpler to sort out in the long run.

The moment that they had entered the hotel lobby, Martin had rushed to her side, grinning and rocking on his heels, his cheeks flushed with the excitement that he was practically vibrating with; he handed Carolyn and Arthur their room keys, and then took Deborah's flight-bag from her against her protests, throwing it over his shoulder and taking her hand in his, entwining their fingers and pulling her towards the lift.

She had tried to ask him what was going on, but Martin had simply brushed her off; it wasn't even like Deborah could complain, as he was being warmer to her than he had been in a week, to the point where the aura of affection surrounding him was tangible, warming her from the centre of her chest as he fiddled with her hair, standing behind her and massaging her shoulders almost subconsciously.

The one thing that Deborah could complain about was the way that Martin's hands moved to cover the upper half of her face the moment that the lift doors swished open; her own hands had darted up to pull his back enough that only his long fingers covered her eyes, but Martin's frantic and comforting murmuring and stuttering in her ears stopped her from spoiling whatever it was that he was doing.

Whatever he was doing…at the moment, his plan, whatever it was that he had been thinking over for the best part of a week now, seemed to involve a lot of tripping and bumping into walls, which was enough to stop her from truly lowering her arms, so Deborah allowed Martin to guide her half way down the hall, the tips of her fingers pressing small points into his wrists, before saying another word, while Martin kept up a litany of 'this way', 'here', 'there', 'that's it'.

"Martin, that's the third time you've tripped me up since the lift." Deborah noted as her elbow caught on another corner, and Martin stumbled into her back, only managing to keep their balance by some sort of miracle, "Why can't I see where we're going?"

"Because, I said you can't." Martin replied curtly, the beam evident in his voice as his breath brushed past her ear, and his arms curled more securely around her, as if to guide her more certainly through the halls.

"But I know what the room number is." Deborah reminded him airily, smirking when he ground to a halt, making her stumble as his arms remained fixed around her; she was sly enough to know that he must have something lined up for her, and she dreaded to think what it was.

"Oh…sorry." Martin mumbled, and stepped away from her; Deborah had to blink hard against the harshness of the hotel's overhead lights, but her vision returned swiftly enough for her to lay her eyes on Martin digging his hands into his pockets, cheeks scarlet, bottom lip pink between his teeth, "I suppose you can look where we're going."

"Thank you." Deborah replied, genuinely relieved to have her sight back; she stepped back to Martin's side and hooked her arm through his, stroking her thumb over the crook of his elbow, just the way he liked it, "Now, what is this all about? An hour ago you were barely saying a word to me, now you can barely keep your hands off me; I'm actually starting to worry about you."

"There's no need to worry – absolutely no need to be worried." Martin assured her in his most un-reassuring tone of voice, as he started up his sluggish pace of before, swaying with each step he took; they were nearly at their room anyway, so Deborah chose not to rush him, "It's a nice surprise, really."

"Hold on, Martin." Deborah instructed, tugging on his arm until he looked down at her, giving her his full attention for the first time in a week; after a week not knowing where she stood, he deserved a little interrogation, "All of this has been because you want to surprise me?"

"No, not yet!" Martin exclaimed quickly, and he lurched from her grasp to thud into the door to their room, pressing his arm against it as his other hand rifled through his pocket for the key card, "J-just wait, just one more moment…here."

The door swung open, and Deborah rolled her eyes, shaking her head and folding her arms loosely at her front as she smiled fondly at him and strode inside; she had been expecting their usual brand of shoddy room accompanied by whatever Martin had lined up for her, but she was proved wrong. Deborah came to a halt so suddenly that Martin bumped into the back of her as he pulled the door shut behind them and flicked the lights on, revealing the full extent of his surprise.

The room was actually…nice…it was a lovely room, with lots of space and a double bed, a wide window that didn't look out over the car park or some other horrible scene; the lobby hadn't been that impressive, so it must have been one of the nicest rooms that the hotel had to offer. And the rest of it…the rest of it made a surge of warm affection swell in Deborah's chest, and her hand wander up to cover her lips and hide the stunned expression that she was sure she was making.

It wasn't like a scene from the terrible movies that Harry used to be so fond of, but coming from Martin, it was lovely; there were no petals scattered everywhere, because she just _knew_ that Martin would have thrown a fit at the idea of the mess, but there were vases here and there, and on the dressing table beside the television, bottles that looked like they might contain champagne, or something similar.

"Oh…wh…" Deborah found herself a little breathless as she tried to turn back to look Martin in the eye, only to have him step to her side, his arm curled around her waist, his hand a comforting weight against the centre of her back, rubbing small circles into her skin, "What's this for?"

"For you." Martin replied as if it were obvious; he gnawed on his bottom lip and blushed furiously, and even nudged her slightly into the room, hugging closer to her as he guided her in.

"Why?" Deborah asked faintly, unable to move past the jarring in her brain and the sudden stillness of her lungs; it was lovely, and romantic, and explained his evasiveness the past week, but she couldn't quite get her head around the suddenness of such a display of affection; that…none of her previous partners had ever just _done_ things, "Martin-"

"Before you say anything, we're still financially in the clear." Martin declared hastily, slipping away from her to step between her and the room, his hands raised in surrender, "I've been saving up for years now, and this was hardly anything really-"

The lack of his usual pride in such matters, the brutal honesty of it all delivered with a tentative smile, was enough to wash light breath back through her veins, and Deborah had to press her palm a little harder against her chest to hold in the flood of emotion that threatened to drown her as the romance of the moment finally, _finally_ crashed down on her shoulders.

"I wasn't going to ask, darling, that's alright." Deborah sighed, shaking her head and fighting a smile, her lips pressed together in case too much emotion might make her tear up, and ruin the whole thing; instead she tread towards him, dropping her hands and lifting them imperceptibly towards him.

"Good, g-good." Martin managed to say through shuddering breath, his chest heaving as he took her hands in the tips of his fingers, winding them together and swinging his wrists ever so slightly; the pleasant tingle that that produced made the smile spread from Deborah's lips to her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes to trace the places where their hands were linked, "So, what do you think?" when Deborah didn't answer, Martin's voice dipped lower, and he cocked his head to try and meet her gaze, "Dear?...love?...Deborah…?"

"I-I…it's lovely." Deborah replied, inhaling sharply as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, thrown again by the depth of emotion in his eyes; logically she should have accepted the gesture, but she needed to know, for her own peace of mind, "Martin, what is this for?"

"It's for showing you how much I love you." Martin explained, his eyes narrowing as if he were confused as to why he had to explain at all.

"I know that you love me." Deborah remarked, letting out a silent laugh when Martin quirked his eyebrows and smirked that devious, self-satisfied smirk that sat attractively on his face, "I love you too."

"Yes, but, I wanted to show you without words for once." Martin shrugged lopsidedly, as if it were no matter, but Deborah knew otherwise; they still weren't particularly well off, so as a rule, expensive gestures were off the table…and Martin was the type of man who gave all or nothing, so she was well aware how hard it was for him to restrain himself.

"So this is why you've been secretive." Deborah murmured, leaning forwards and bridging the gap between them to place a soft, but lingering peck on the curve above his chin, as his cheeks heated even further under her lips; she took a step back, slipping her hands from his, and turned to survey the room, wandering to trace the tips of her fingers over the velvety edge of a rose.

"Yes." Martin responded brightly, and although she couldn't see him Deborah could imagine him hooking his hands behind him and rocking on his heels, a freckly smile on his face; the thought alone made her pause and her lips tremble slightly as she fingered the flower, and Martin must have picked up on that, as she heard him treading closer across the carpet and asking, "Debs…Deborah what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm flattered." Deborah assured him hastily, spinning back to face him and stopping him in his tracks; she had to ask though, "What-why today - I'm not complaining, but we were in Rome two weeks ago….we could've done this at home."

"I know, but I wanted to do this tonight." Martin acknowledged, nodding solemnly; with a sigh, he turned to check behind him, and then stumbled back to drop onto the edge of the bed, folding his arms at the wrist over his lap, "It's important."

"Why? Deborah inquired softly; she walked slowly to perch beside him on the bed, so that their knees bumped against the other, and their arms could rest against each other, a comforting presence no matter what the context.

"Because, a week ago, it was a year since we got back together…" Martin explained gently, turning his head so that he was gazing into her eyes; he didn't sound stressed or upset, so Deborah supposed that she hadn't thrown too much of a wrench in his plans, "So a year since we moved in together as well."

"_Oh…"_ Deborah sighed, more of a breath released against her will; she felt her lips curl at the cornered without her permission, and her chest filled with the roaring flutters that still made her stomach do flips and her throat itch with the need to say something, "that's…sweet. Why not do this last week then?"

"Because _today_, it's been exactly two years since we got together in the first place." Martin elaborated simply, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as if she were part of a cross-examination, his lip pink under the onslaught from his teeth gnawing nervously at it; it was beautiful, _he_ was beautiful, and Deborah couldn't believe that he would remember something like that, "N-not our first kiss, because that was…"

"It was a farce." Deborah choked out a laugh, and felt her smile grow so bright that she though it must have shone, as Martin's face lit up as if in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the effort, "We, um, we messed that one up a bit."

Their first kiss…now _that_ was a memory that had been pushed away when more taxing problems had taken their toll; on the surface, a farce…but now that Deborah thought about it, the images of exhaustion and fun, and of tentatively dipping her toes into the swirling pit of emotions that a failed van job had stirred up from the already extremely present mess…she almost missed the days when she and Martin had first been exploring the _something_ between them, prodding and poking until one of them reacted.

"Yes, exactly." Martin chuckled, and his hand slipped between them to take hers again, a tentative curl around her fingers, like a knight lifting the hand of a lady, "B-but that other first time, wh-when we first, uh, when we first talked about how we felt, a-and started all of this- i-it wasn't a farce, that was great, and I haven't forgotten the date because…well, it was a weird day."

"Quite helpfully weird if I remember correctly." Deborah remarked wryly; so weird in fact, with such weird people, that they had sworn never to speak of it, even when alone, or even to think of it. Of course, every now and then something would remind Deborah of the odd people that had appeared that day, but for the most part, it was a moment in her life that faded into obscurity, kept alive in part by the memory of what it had led to.

"Yeah…it was a bit." Martin murmured, his thumb stroking idly over the back of her knuckles; he was jolted back into slow action when Deborah lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his hand, "So…what do you think?"

"I…I'm not entirely sure _what_ to say." Deborah replied honestly, lifting her head from where she hadn't realised she had dropped it to glance around at the adornments to the room; she was blown away by Martin's wonderful ability to try and sweep her off her feet, even though it had been proved years ago that it was a hard task, so much so that her other partners had just thought that she was mysterious and enigmatic enough not to need it.

Martin…they had known each other for years, from near hatred, to cautious and untrusting friendship, to complete devotion…he still managed to surprise her.

"Just be really happy and smile?" Martin suggested, wincing sheepishly as he grinned at her, "That would be sort of what I was hoping for."

"I am _extremely_ happy." Deborah drawled softly, unable to muster her usual brand of sarcasm; Martin made a little sound that might have been a squeak of triumph, shifting so that the mattress dipped and knocked their legs together more, which only made her laugh all the more, gripping his hand and ducking her eyes, "Is my smile quite what you wanted?"

"It's beautiful." Martin almost hummed, his voice reaching that lower register that made something in Deborah's chest clench and shiver with pleasure, and he leaned in until their foreheads touched, "I mean, _you're_ beautiful."

"You're not bad yourself." Deborah purred, enjoying the intimacy of the moment; then she remembered everything that Martin had set up, and how dismayed he would be if he didn't get to make the most of it, "So, Captain, what was the plan for tonight? Charm with me flowers and then…?"

"Well, I thought that we _could_ go out for dinner, _or…"_ Martin sat back, putting the space back between them as he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering to his arrangements and then back to her, a sheepish crinkle tugging at his otherwise besotted expression.

"Or what?" Deborah prompted, giving him the little push that he always needed to leap past his lingering insecurities; one day he wouldn't need the push, and she both anticipated and dreaded that day.

"_Or_, I thought that you might prefer to stay in." Martin concluded, the words coming out as if they were trying to scramble over each other in their bid to kneel before her, "I got roses, and non-alcoholic champagne so that you can drink it too, and we can just relax, be together...watch some of your favourite films – not romantic ones, just ones that you like."

"Ooh, you know me well." Deborah drawled, her eyes wandering unashamedly down to Martin's lips as she wetted hers, and shifted to sit more business-like on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, though she kept a hold of Martin's hands, "I think I'll take the latter offer, thank you very much."

"Right, great, that's good!" Martin responded vigorously, hopping up so that he was kneeling on the bed, and releasing her so that he could reach for the flight-bag that she hadn't even seen him discard, only to begin rifling through it, "I-I've brought some of your favourites – at first I was going to pick out some romantic operas, o-or films, but then I remembered that actually, even though you're classy, and you've got good taste, you love cheesy movies far better."

"So what you've done is snatched some of my DVDs from under the TV?" Deborah inquired fondly, crawling to sit at his shoulder, hands slipping around his bicep, and peer into the carefully arranged contents of his bag as his dextrous hands dug through them.

"Under the bed." Martin corrected her smugly, pausing only to send her a proud little smirk over his shoulder, before he retrieved a stack of worn out boxes, and placed them on the bed, "I know that's where you keep your favourites."

"Alright." Deborah replied, sitting back comfortably and kicking out her legs so that she could watch him bring his legs around to sit cross-legged, facing her with the eagerness that he brought to particularly difficult flights; if he wanted to run things, then perhaps, tonight at least, she could let him, "So which ones have you brought with you?"

"Um…The Addams Family…Batman…" Martin began to reel off distractedly as he glanced at each cover; it became apparent immediately that what Martin had actually done was dig out her favourite films from childhood, all of which had been in a box quite obviously labelled by a teenager, before the video tapes had had to be replaced, "Star Trek ones…Top Gun?"

"I think that's more for you than me." Deborah remarked, poking his thigh with her toe; Martin rolled his eyes, but put Top Gun aside nonetheless, so that he could carry on flicking through the veritable stash that he had managed to sneak past her.

Watching him mutter to himself, so engrossed in his task that romance must have completely abandoned his mind save for as a box to be ticked, Deborah couldn't help but find herself overwhelmed by the warm and pleasant spread of affection that leeched through her veins and prickled at her pores, making her chest swell and ache to pull her as close to him as possible. Maybe it wasn't the most romantic pastime, watching him, still in his uniform, pinch and scrunch his nose as he inspected the objects in his lap, but Deborah thought that she could do it forever, which only served to make her long to be closer to him now.

"Shall I put something on then?" Martin asked after a while, once there were at least three piles of DVDs scattered strategically on one side of the bed; he looked up at Deborah, where she was lying back, propped up on her elbows having shirked her jacket, watching him 'work', and blinked at her patiently.

"No, that can wait." Deborah replied warmly, as she pushed herself up and onto her knees, and shuffled close enough that she could sit in front of Martin, their knees touching, and move the boxes that she had displaced to a safe distance before drawling, "You know Martin, there's no reason that we couldn't cuddle up and watch films later, with some food."

"What do you want to do until then?" Martin asked, wonderfully oblivious as always as his eyes followed the path of her hands, his attention still quite firmly on the task at hand.

"I'm sure we can think of a few things." Deborah purred, shifting a little closer and lifting her hand to brush the back of her knuckles against his cheek; that seemed to get the message across, as immediately Martin pushed the bag from his lap, and she felt his hands move slowly to her waist, "After all, you did put a lot of effort into tonight; I can think of a lot of ways that I could reward you for that."

"Oh, really?" Martin attempted a salacious drawl, but as always, it came out far too Martin-ish to be anything close; nevertheless, that, and the way that the wicked light glinted in his eyes, was enough to convince Deborah that he was absolutely on board for her change of plans. He deserved it after all of his effort.

"Hmmm…" Deborah hummed, and her eyes lidded as Martin pulled her onto his lap, arms wrapping loosely around her waist as his eyes dipped down her face, snapping back up to her eyes as if to prove that he was listening; she must have stilled, physically as well as mentally, as she felt the question at her tongue before it came out far more tentative than she had imagined, "Martin?"

"Yes?" Martin replied, halting in his inspection of her to give her the benefit of his full attention, albeit with hands still playing idly with the material of her shirt.

"I really love you." Deborah said gently, as if withdrawn from even saying such a thing, as she tipped her head down enough to brush the tips of their noses together; she might have said it all the time, but at times like this, when she felt like this…sometimes it still made her falter how much it was actually true.

Martin, it seemed, didn't have that problem.

"I love you too." Martin replied, in that tone of voice that said 'I absolutely mean what I'm saying, but why do you even have to ask?'; it was comforting to know that his steadfast confidence in himself, perhaps not his skills, but himself, was ever constant, "Now, come here."

With that the arms around Deborah's waist tightened, and laughing at the suddenness of it, she found herself being pulled forwards, lips colliding with Martin's as he chuckled, and they flopped back onto the bed.

* * *

**This is one of the ones that I write and think 'clunky', but I reckon it's worked out alright. A bit more schmoopy than the last one, because I think that's what everyone was hoping for.**

**I hope you enjoyed it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all, and here's another thrilling chapter, I'm sure.**

**Firstly, I'm going to answer some comments I got for 'A Backwards Glance', because as I've been made aware, reviews are coming through as 'Guest' when actually that's not what's being submitted.**

**So, Ashtrees and Wikketkrikket - I'm not 100% which is which review, but I'm going to reply to them both here: **

**1) Thank you for commenting, and I'm glad that you both like it and despair and Debbie's actions as much as I do. While some people do marry at 18 and live happily ever after, Debbie is not emotionally ready for that.**

**2) For noting that Zach reminds you of Martin. Well done! I deliberately made him similar because I figured that there had to be some sort of link between her first love and the one that stuck.**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Summer, it seemed, only remained exciting in its heat for a short while, before the scorching of the sun through cloudless sky became a heavy weight, inducing headaches and exhaustion. Or at least, that was the decision that Deborah had come to over the course of the day; Martin and Arthur hadn't quite reached that point, but she was praying that they would stop enjoying themselves retreat indoors soon.

They were having _far_ too much fun for two men that loved their jobs so much; anyone would think that they were enjoying being on standby. It had been a clever scheme, and Deborah could appreciate Carolyn's style; it was hot out, and as Martin and Arthur were going stir-crazy, washing GERTI was a smart idea that not only kept them occupied taking care of something they both valued, but it also saved a lot of money.

So Deborah had joined them outside, feigning reluctance even though she rather liked the prospect of seeing Martin get soaked and take part in manual labour; she wasn't going to help with any of the lifting or washing of course, but she was content to stand at the bottom of the fold-out ladder while Arthur clambered to the top with a bucket of warm water, and Martin rushed here and there with sponges in his hands, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Deborah was just watching Martin say something to Arthur, leaning on the opposite side of the ladder, when she started as a sharp slap of tepid water caught her shoulder, dampening and freezing the exposed skin of her neck, fell from over her head. It was a good thing that Martin had his hands on the ladder, as Deborah jumped backwards, her hands flying into the air either side of her as she regained her composure, and pushed her hair behind her shoulders, out of harm's way.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Deborah demanded, only just keeping her tone measured and refraining from just yelling up at him; she ignored Martin's unabashed sniggers for the sake of glaring up at Arthur, and tugging at the side of her shirt to counter the uncomfortable stick of the material against her skin.

"Oh, sorry!" Arthur called down to her, the arm not holding the bucket lifting to shield his eyes from the sun; he winced slightly as he took in Deborah's glare, and the dark patch around her shoulder, "Did I get you?"

"You most definitely got her." Martin chuckled, cheeks flushed as he grinned at her, scrunching the bridge of his nose up as Deborah batted away the hand that he reached around the ladder to poke at her damp shirt; he wasn't discouraged from his mirth, but that was to be expected, "A direct hit."

"Shush you." Deborah scolded him, but there was no real heat behind it, and she felt a warm smile begin to creep up the corners of her lips; folding her arms loosely, she leant back against the side of the plane and kicked the tip of her toes against one of the buckets that they had left on the ground, "One word more and you might find your precious uniform soaked through."

"Go ahead." Martin snorted; then his expression pinched slightly, and he glanced down at his own uniform, his lip twisting at the dark stains at the bunched up material at his elbows, where the water had run down his arms, "It's not like the material's going to ruin is it."

"I suppose not," Deborah drawled wanly, batting her eyelashes at him, and making a show of sighing and cocking her head, eyes never leaving his torso; she did so like it when he became prissy and argumentative over things that were never going to change, "although it would be much more fun to tease you if it _did_."

"Honestly, we're making enough money now that Carolyn could afford to buy us properly fitting uniforms that _aren't_ made of polyester." Martin continued as if she hadn't spoken, tipping his nose just a fraction higher into the air as he steadied the ladder, atop which Arthur was wobbling slightly, "We're a professional airline, and we should look professional."

"I love our uniforms." Arthur chimed, grinning as he turned and twisted to look at both of their faces as he addressed them, his bucket swinging precariously; it was hardly a surprise that he loved them, Arthur loved everything that wasn't inherently evil to begin with, "They're brilliant; no one else has ones quite like them."

"All the more reason to upgrade." Deborah murmured loud enough for Martin alone to hear; there wasn't time for her to bask in his conspiratorial smirk though, as she was struck all of a sudden by another wall of water, slapping against her arm and rebounding with drops onto her face.

"Sorry Deborah!" Arthur called over his shoulder; despite his apology, he continued scrubbing wetly at GERTI's side, while Martin sniggered and ducked his head down to hide his smile against his upper arm.

"Right, that's it." Deborah announced, throwing her hands into the air either side of her, and ducking away from the ladder and the plane in two strides, out of the line of fire; it had been fun at first, but she wasn't staying outside to get soaked through, "I'm going inside."

"Oh, don't be like that." Martin begged her, the smirk still fresh on his lips as she passed him, and he reached out to slip his hand around her wrist, tugging her lightly back towards him; he pouted insincerely and tried to tangle his fingers with hers, failing despite his efforts, and lowering his voice, "I'll miss you."

"I bet you will." Deborah purred, withdrawing her hand, but conceding to lean in and place a light kiss upon his lips, smirking when he took his hand from the ladder, and then stumbled back to steady it, "Nevertheless, I'm going where I can't be rained on during this otherwise cloudless day."

"If you're going in, can you see if Mum will come out?" Arthur asked when he caught sight of Deborah extracting herself from Martin's hold, holding in a laugh at his efforts.

"I can tell you now, Arthur, she won't." Deborah promised, folding her arms and leaning back on her heel as she squinted against the light of the sun glinting off of GERTI's side; there was nothing on Earth that could make Carolyn abandon the porta-cabin for the grime of the outdoors, especially once she knew that Deborah herself wasn't partaking in the manual labour.

"She might." Arthur insisted confidently, in the tone of a man that knew how the world worked; his expectant gaze didn't falter for even a moment.

"I'll bet you a fiver she won't." Deborah retorted, pleased to see the slight widening of Arthur's eyes that promised that he would join in with whatever bet she put forwards; it was easy money, but there was something nice about winning, even if it was against Arthur.

"_Deborah_…" Martin sighed, the fond edge to his voice not going unnoticed; he fixed Deborah with a decided glare, which she couldn't quite take seriously, but neither did she mock, "You promised not to bet things out of Arthur."

"I promised nothing of the sort." Deborah replied, quirking her eyebrows playfully; when Martin just rolled his eyes and huffed as if she had disobeyed a direct order, she returned to press her lips to his cheek, and then made her departure, "I'll see you later, darling."

oOoOoOo

It was hard to tell whether it would have been better to remain outside and play victim to the onslaught as delivered by Arthur, or to stagnate in the dullness that was Carolyn's filing system. Deborah could understand why Carolyn had wanted silence; any peripheral noise might have reminded her how fun it was to _not_ be leafing through her books with a pen in hand.

"Why aren't you using Martin's notes?" Deborah inquired lazily, as she sprawled back over the sofa; she might have sat behind her desk to do some work, but unfortunately it was already inhabited, "He spent months getting all of our client details in alphabetical and chronological order."

"Because Martin's notes are all fact." Carolyn replied shortly, distracted enough not to pay Deborah too much notice, her eyes barely lifting from the desk top, "My notes have my thoughts on them, as a wise businesswoman's notes should have."

"You mean you wrote down whether you hated the customer or liked them?" Deborah remarked wryly; that would be just the sort of thing that Carolyn would do, noting down the misdemeanours of her previous customers, "Businesswoman's notes or a schoolgirl's journal?"

"Thanks to the three of you I also had to write down whether _they_ hate _us_." Carolyn glanced up at this, fixing Deborah with a look that spoke wonders for exactly what she thought of _that_, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to reach out to potential clients when half of them can't stand the sound of the company name?"

"I imagine it throws a spanner or two in the works." Deborah drawled, dropping her head down on the cushions; it wasn't her fault that a large number of their old clients had exhibited rather caustic personalities.

"Not that you could care any less." Carolyn retorted, turning back to her work; how she thought that she of all people was going to sweet talk their current clients into booking more flights was beyond Deborah's imaginings. Nobody was that good of an actor.

"You have the most amazing faith in me Carolyn, you really do." Deborah muttered, curling her hand through the air beside her, and smarting internally at the rebuff, even though she knew that it was nothing but banter, "What have I ever done to-"

Before Deborah could finish, a shrill ringing breached the air, signalling the ringing of Carolyn's phone in her office; Carolyn made a movement as if to get up, but then thought better, and laid her arms atop her papers, sighing as she turned to address Deborah, a weary set of her face suggesting that her work was more trying than it appeared.

"Get that would you." Carolyn instructed, gesturing blindly towards her office as the phone continued to ring, ever more insistently, "I'm in the middle of a train of thought."

"Of course." Deborah replied, rising to her feet not quite as gracefully as she might have liked, and striding across the room while the blood was still rushing to her head; she paused in the doorway just long enough to say, "Though, if it's one of the ones that hates us, I'll be bringing the receiver through here for you to deal with them."

Phone still ringing persistently, Deborah pushed the door until it was ajar and wandered to the desk, plucking the receiver from its hold and dropping into Carolyn's wheelie chair as the silence struck the air.

"MJN Air, First Officer Richardson." Deborah spoke clearly into the receiver as she pressed it lightly to her ear; it had been a while since she had played the host of MJN, and she had to admit, she rather enjoyed the little thrill of power that it instilled, "How may our quaint little company be of use to you today?"

"_Hello…it is Theresa…"_ a low yet distinctly feminine voice, heavily accented, wafted down the line, and although there was something restrained about it, a prickle of discomfort pricked at the base of Deborah's throat, even before the end of the sentence arrived, _"of Lichtenstein."_

"Theresa?" Deborah repeated tautly, and all of a sudden a lump formed in her throat and a hand closed around her chest, even something in her mind knew that it was ridiculous; it didn't matter though, as in that moment, she was thrust back over a year and a half, as if no time had passed, back into the suffocating and aching misery, and forced to remain calm and polite, because that was the best and proper thing to do, "What…did…did you need something?"

"_I would like to book your plane for a flight." _Theresa replied, and something about her tone of voice made something click in Deborah's head, making the room sharpen once more around her, as she realised that the other woman was as uncomfortable, and dare she say it, nervous, as she was, _"I understand that this might be…awkward for you-"_

"Then why did you call us?" Deborah demanded, perhaps a little too harshly; leaning forwards against the desk, she steadied her tone and tried not to sound too hostile…it wasn't Theresa's fault after all, "There are other airlines that would be much easier for all of us in the long run."

"_My usual airline has let me down, and I thought…" _Theresa explained hastily, before trailing off, and audibly taking a deep breath, speaking reasonably despite the terse nature of her speech, _"I just thought that if I was going to spend a lot of money on a last minute flight, then I might as well pay a company that deserved it."_

"That's generous of you," Deborah sighed, a shred of her anger evaporating into guilt; it was so difficult to talk to someone who was ultimately lovely when the very thought of them, through no fault of their own, made one want to bury their heads and scrub their mind free of any trace of horrid emotion that still lingered in its recesses, "but-"

"_Deborah, can I speak honestly to you?"_ Theresa interjected, with a gravity that couldn't be ignored, no matter how much Deborah would have liked to.

"I suppose." Deborah agreed wanly, injecting little to no emotion into her tone; it would be wrong to hold a grudge against Theresa for the emotional torment that Martin and herself had put each other through, during those horrible months between the wonder of new love, and the pain of trying to convince him to move on to something better than herself.

But everything was alright now…she and Martin were happy…there was no logical reason for Deborah to find herself seized by the same old terror that ran straight to the hollows in her heart…and yet there they were, against her better judgement.

"_I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. That's really not what I'm trying to do." _Theresa informed her, with such a genuine sympathy in her voice that there was no denying her sincerity, _"If you don't want me near MJN, then I can go elsewhere…I just thought that I would rather help your little company than some big one that doesn't need my money."_

"I-it's not…I'm not uncomfortable." Deborah swallowed hard, in an attempt to regain some composure, as she ran a hand through her hair; she was so uncomfortable, but this woman was going out of her way to do something kind despite being messed around by their Captain, "It's a nice thought."

"_Really?" _Theresa didn't quite exclaim, just as smooth and controlled as she had been the last time that Deborah had spoken to her, _"I am glad. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, it's just-"_

"Stop apologising, there's no need." Deborah interrupted wearily; it barely took a moment's thought, and a glance towards the door sitting ajar, before she made her decision, the right decision, she was sure, "I…I have no issue with you booking MJN…I'm sure our CEO won't mind the extra profit either."

"_And…and Martin?" _Theresa's question trembled just a little more than her previous words; it was no surprise, as it sent a shiver of dread rippling beneath Deborah's skin, and she was forced to close her eyes and place her free palm against her forehead, _"Is he still with you, or did he get the job with Swiss Air?"_

"He's still with us." Deborah replied curtly, inhaling deeply in order to keep herself calm; she hadn't even considered how Martin would react, whether his feelings would be the same as hers, "Will that be a problem?"

It would be a problem, even if Theresa and Martin agreed to behave amiably and like old friends…they were old friends…the thought of putting them in the same room made Deborah want to clench her fists into her palms until it hurt, and shut out the horrid feelings churching in her guts. But she was an adult, and that kind of thinking was ridiculous, and petty, and she was above that now that she and Martin were _perfectly fine_.

"_Not for me." _Theresa insisted quickly, _"I…I just wouldn't want to impose if he didn't want me there."_

"Why wouldn't he want you here?" Deborah asked sharply, and then immediately regretted her tone; Theresa was being nothing but decent, and didn't deserve her distemper, no matter how much she wanted something to alleviate her dreariness, "I thought that everything was over and done with between you, an amiable end and all that."

"_Yes, it was amiable…" _Theresa agreed, although she sounded uncomfortable; no doubt the subject was as sour for her as it was for Deborah, _"And we haven't spoken since the evening of his interview, over a year ago."_

"Then there shouldn't be any problem should there?" Deborah remarked with faux enthusiasm that wouldn't have fooled anyone; she opened her eyes, but when that only made her want to frown, she squeezed them shut again and pressed her hands over her lids.

"_But we haven't spoken to each other." _Theresa continued, not quite as oblivious to Deborah's apathy as she might have seemed if the guarded edge to her tone was any indicator, _"I don't know how he might react to having me there. I'll only book a flight if I know that the both of you are alright with me being on your plane."_

"It'll be fine." Deborah assured her, before she could stir up any more potentially lethal cocktails of emotions; she could do this, for the good of the company, and for the sake of not rejecting a genuine act of kindness, "Where do you want to go?"

"_From Lichtenstein to England, on Friday morning."_ Theresa replied, sounding somewhat relieved at the change of subject,_ "I'm taking Maxi to school…again."_

"That should be fine." Deborah told her, trying to remain detached, even as she thought that she didn't want to have to face the onslaught that was threatening to peak in her chest if she were to actually see this woman; no, that wasn't right, she had to behave and get her head straight, nothing was wrong, not at all, and there was nothing to worry about, "I'll have to check the calendar, but I think we're free. If you want to run me through timings, I can work out the pricing-"

"_Are you sure that you're okay with this?"_ Theresa interjected, cutting Deborah off where she may not have been able to herself.

"Yes, I just said that I was okay." Deborah replied, smarting at the implication that she wasn't completely sure of her own mind; but she couldn't cling to that, she had to be reasonable, not wallow in the swirling pit of her stomach or the ever teary lump in her throat as she was pitched once again into the past and her many nights wondering whether Martin would be happier in Switzerland with his girlfriend the Princess of Lichtenstein.

"_No, not the whole company." _Theresa almost huffed, which was enough to make Deborah lift her head up and slump against the back of the seat instead, uncovering her eyes, _"Are you, Deborah, okay with me being there? I know that I must have caused you a lot of pain, and I wouldn't want to bring any of that back."_

"Who said that you had caused me any pain?" Deborah demanded weakly, struck by a wash of dejection; that wasn't the sort of thing she wanted to share, she had barely shared that with Arthur, let alone strangers, "Martin didn't-"

"_Martin broke up with me, because he was 'in love with another woman, and could never think of spending his life with anyone else'…" _Theresa explained slowly, as if she was afraid that she might say the wrong thing, _"It didn't take me long to work out who he meant, and I just assumed that if you had known each other for years, then it can't have been a secret."_

"Yes, we were…_together_…for a while before you turned up…it was a difficult time." Deborah admitted, steeling herself; she had to get over this, Theresa had been an innocent victim in her and Martin's mucking around, and it wasn't her fault, nor her place to be feeling guilty, "I'm sorry about that- I told him the moment that he told me what he'd done that he shouldn't have-"

"_Don't be sorry." _Theresa instructed her, with the restrained sheepishness that Deborah imagined she had learnt in her years of overseeing her brother's duties for her, _"I'm sorry for never noticing that he was yours – I can't imagine the pain that I put you through, which is why I don't want to-"_

"It's over and done with." Deborah assured her; she let out a sigh as she blinked around the office, and tried to swallow as much discontent as possible, for the sake of not being a miserable human being, "Thank you…it's good of you to think of MJN."

"_It is the least I can do." _Theresa replied pleasantly enough that Deborah was reassured of her ability to mask her discomfort, _"Besides, you're all much friendlier than the cabin crews on my usual airline."_

"Well, as our advertisement says, we do try…we really _try_, even if we don't produce results." Deborah remarked, forcing a facsimile of brightness; this was doable, they could really use the extra money, and perhaps facing Theresa would help to alleviate the trickles of doubt that she hadn't realised still accepted, "Look, let me know what you need, and I'll run it past Carolyn."

"_And make sure that Martin doesn't mind seeing me again?"_ Theresa inquired softly; it would be so much easier if she weren't so thoughtful.

"Sure…" Deborah replied, reaching across the desk to take up one of Carolyn's abandoned pens, and search for a scrap of paper; there was no way that Martin would agree to this, so there was no choice but to lie. They needed the money, and if Deborah didn't face this head on now, the emotions that Theresa's reappearance in her life had caused might never go away.

oOoOoOo

This had been a bad idea; why Deborah had thought that letting Theresa hire them without telling Martin where they were flying, or who their client was, was a good idea, was beyond her. It needed to be done, they needed the money and they needed to put any residual feelings behind them, because Deborah _knew_, after many failed relationships, that she shouldn't be feeling so unsettled and insecure at the idea of one of Martin's exes appearing, even if it did bring back uncomfortable memories.

Martin knew something was wrong, though he couldn't know what; that much Deborah was sure of. That was especially noticeable on the morning of the flight to Lichtenstein. Normally when he awoke, Martin would go and make breakfast if Deborah was still asleep, and if she woke first, he would find her and wrap his arms around her from behind, snuggling until he was properly conscious.

Today, neither of those things happened. Deborah woke first, though she had barely slept at all, and instead of getting out of bed to put the kettle on, she had swung her legs out and perched on the edge of the mattress, hands wound tightly together as she didn't quite scheme, but desperately tried not to tap incessantly in trepidation of Martin's reaction.

She heard Martin snuffling before she felt the mattress dip with his movement, and he barely said a word as he shuffled up beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, and then pulling her into a hug; Martin asked what was wrong, and Deborah smiled and rejected the idea out of hand. Nothing was wrong…yet.

Now Deborah was still on edge, having sorted out everything without saying a word to Martin, sitting in the flight-deck, rapping her nails against the arm of her seat; she curled her hand and laid it still as Martin appeared in her field of vision, squeezing between their seats and dropping into his own, adjusting his hat atop his ginger hair, straightening his epaulets.

"Are you feeling alright, Debs?" Martin asked when he finally turned his head to look at her; when no response came, he shifted until he was facing her, and reached out to try and take her hand, his brow furrowing with concern, but not a shred of suspicion, "I'm starting to worry about you."

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be alright?" Deborah replied a little too hastily, lifting her hand before Martin could take it; she noted the pinched frown that appeared on his face as he withdrew his hand, and was hit by a pang of guilt, just another wash of negative emotion added to the rest, "I'm absolutely fine."

"Right…" Martin murmured, sniffing indignantly, but not giving up; on any other day, Deborah might have appreciated his persistence and his worrying, but today, she would have rather listened to the hum of the engine, "It's just you did the flight plan, and the paperwork, Carolyn said you booked the flight, and you've been…working."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you _wanted_ me to do my job." Deborah remarked sarcastically, distractedly, not quite turning to address him face to face; the dull tarmac of Fitton's runway was enough for her now, "The walk-around still needs doing if you're feeling left out."

Making Martin leave her company was the last thing that Deborah wanted; even when almost jittering from anxiety at how he was going to react to what she had done, his presence was calming, as if having him in arm's reach was enough to boost her confidence. She was just snippy, she knew that; what else could she be when in a few hours Martin and Theresa would be in the same room, and she would be riddled with the same jealous churning throughout her flesh as before.

"Sure…I'll do that…" Martin replied dejectedly, though he made no signs of movement, other than to glance over his shoulder and call out towards the Galley, his eyes wandering back to rest upon Deborah's face every few seconds, "Arthur, is the Cabin checked and ready?"

"Yep! Everything's clean and ready for our passengers." Arthur answered cheerily, as he stuck his head around the door, buoyed as always by the opportunity to cater to real life passengers, even if they were on the other end of the flight; Deborah didn't bother turning, but internally flinched as he asked, "Where are we going today?"

"Actually, that's a point." Martin remarked, curiously enough that Deborah pressed her lips together and propped her elbow up on the arm between them, so that she could shade half of her face with her palm; here was the precipice over which they were destined to topple into an argument, the likes of which they hadn't had in months, Deborah was sure, "Where _are_ we going today?"

"It's not really possible for me not to tell you, is it?" Deborah noted dryly, blinking out at the runway through the newly shining glass; hopelessness had never tasted so bitter as it did now, mixed with the sour certainty that in a few hours she would have to face someone who represented a future that she almost had, and almost didn't have at all.

"Not as I'm the Captain, no." Martin responded matter-of-factly, his posture stiffening slightly beside her; with each syllable that left his mouth, his insistence became more shrill, and more nervously suspicious, "Why don't you want to tell me? Deborah, what aren't you telling me?"

"We're going to Lichtenstein." Deborah muttered, letting her eyes flicker to meet Martin's, and then hastily staring at the outside once again when she caught sight of the stunned betrayal that leeched into every facet of his expression. His hands had frozen on the arms of his seat, and he was staring at her open mouthed, wide-eyed and red cheeked, as if he couldn't create the right way to react.

"Oh…I'll, um…" Arthur stammered, demonstrating a fit of unusual perceptiveness; his voice was already becoming distant when Deborah heard him excuse himself from the icy atmosphere that had leapt into existence, "I'll leave you two alone for a bit, see if Mum's on board yet."

"When you say Lichtenstein, y-you mean some random citizen that wants a private jet, don't you?" Martin demanded the moment that the flight-deck door slammed shut behind them; he was spoke steadily, though his voice was shaking, and his hand was clenched into a ball atop the arm of his seat, "You don't mean you booked-"

"We're flying Princess Theresa and her brother back to England so that he can be in school on time." Deborah told him, taking a deep breath and pressing her back to the padding on her seat; she was taking the moral high ground and doing the right, logical, thing, and although Martin would be mad for a while, he would get over it…eventually.

If Martin truly loved her the way that he said he did, then there was no reason that however uncomfortable seeing Theresa made him, he would stay furious…unless…no.

"Deborah!" Martin exclaimed; when Deborah lifted her gaze, it was to see him staring at her as if she had committed some terrible crime, blue eyes narrowed as if he were trying to decipher her very thoughts, "Why would you book that flight!"

"Because she's willing to pay us a lot of money-" Deborah started to explain, as calmly as she could given the defensive flare in her chest, spurred on by indignation; it wasn't as if she had murdered his mother or burnt his clothes for Christ's sake.

"And you didn't think about how _I_ would feel about this?" Martin asked shrilly, gesturing with a hand jabbing frantically at his own chest as his cheeks flushed with exertion; he was completely ignoring her logical decision, "It didn't occur to you that I might not want to see her?"

"Of course it occurred," Deborah replied curtly, pursing her lips and inhaling sharply, holding her head high as she turned her head to stare him in the eyes; if she could be brave and face the past, then he was damn well going to respect that decision, like it or not, "but then it also occurred to me that if you really didn't want to see her, you could hide in the flight-deck until she's gone."

"Oh, _thank you_!" Martin didn't quite sneer, but it was close enough, with his grandiose tone and the way he slumped back in his seat, glaring at her, oblivious to her own discomfort, "Thank you, you caring woman that I have chosen to spend my life with – thank you for sparing that tiny thought for my happiness when you-"

"We need the money Martin!" Deborah snapped, cutting him off as her breathing became just that little bit too ragged, but before she could lose her temper as he tugged at her already frayed nerves, "Don't you start on me – we need to earn a little extra where we can, so that we can put it away in case of emergencies."

"That's what my van money is for." Martin retorted, letting his palms drop open either side of him, as he shook his head, stubbornly setting his jaw as he glared at her.

"Well now we're going to have even more to put away." Deborah remarked sharply, schooling her expression; Martin wasn't listening anymore, he was just spurting baseless arguments as he was wont to do when he was losing a fight, and she didn't have to listen to that.

"I don't want to see her!" Martin exclaimed, his whole figure shuddering slightly as he held as still as he could, red faced and furious as he refused to back down, unable to seize upon a rational argument, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth; there was the truth, without prevarication, easier to stomach, as hard as Martin's overreaction was to understand.

"I know you don't. I don't particularly want to see any of my exes; I _do_ understand." Deborah replied as calmly as she could, measuring her tone and placing her hands firmly on the arms of her seat, unwilling to reach between them and try to comfort Martin when he was being unreasonable, "But much like me having to put up with Chris for the sake of Verity, you can suck it up and deal with Theresa for _one day_, so that we can put a little extra in the bank for holidays, or moving, or any number of things that _require money!"_

"It's not the same." Martin muttered, ducking his head, having the grace to look sheepish, even as he ran a hand over the back of his neck, and continued to mutter as if she couldn't hear him, "I can't believe you did this."

"It's done Martin." Deborah said matter-of-factly, taking her eyes from him and staring instead at the controls, which she curled her hand around, grounding herself, "We are flying Theresa, and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but it's happening, whether you act like a child or not."

"How can _you_ be okay with having her here?" Martin grumbled; she could hear him shifting, the brush of his uniform against his seat as he undoubtedly glared at him like a petulant child, but Deborah didn't bother inflicting more pain upon herself by looking.

"Because she's a nice woman, and she's generous enough to want to help us out instead of using some big multi-national company." Deborah sighed tonelessly; she was in the right here, and wouldn't allow herself to be cowed, guilt be damned, "I'm not the sort of person to hold grudges, you know that."

"Don't give me that." Martin snorted bitterly; something about his disregard tugged at the distemper roiling in her chest, though she didn't react outwardly, "You've been holding a grudge against Herc and he hasn't even done anything."

"That's not a grudge, that's just a general dislike." Deborah retorted, and then remembered that that wasn't what they were fighting about, and that she couldn't let herself get distracted; she knew deep down that Martin was just as uncomfortable with the arrangement as she was, and that she couldn't let that get in the way, so she took a deep breath and let her eyes fall closed for just a moment, "Martin…I am sorry."

"Sorry's not good enough." Martin replied caustically enough that Deborah pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes; then he groaned in that guilty way that she recognised so well, "I don't want to face her Deborah! I broke it off quickly, over the phone because I was here in Fitton, and even though everything was fine, it might not have been fine, b-because there was no closure, and just a lot of loose ends and sudden-"

"You think there are still loose ends?" Deborah cut him off, her head snapping around so that she could look him in the eye, any semblance of cool fractured; this was what she was afraid of, even though there should be no reason at all to be afraid. What if one of those ends wasn't quite so loose?

"There's not still anything on my end!" Martin insisted, but the heat seemed to fade from his expression as his eyes widened imperceptibly, and his throat visibly bobbed as he gulped at bit down on his bottom lip; so he was paying enough attention to see that Deborah wasn't happy, at the very least, "Well, except guilt about dropping her, and me feeling bad about stringing her along!"

"You still feel for her?" Deborah asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but fearing that her decision not to meet Martin's gaze might have negated those efforts.

"I don't – what about _her_?" Martin couldn't' even finish his denial, and that made the lump in Deborah's throat stick, while indignation flared in her guts, as Martin gesticulated eclectically, "What if she was hurt? What if she's angry, o-or upset, or what if she's holding a grudge against _me_? I don't want to see her!"

"Then don't." Deborah replied curtly, holding her unaffected expression and rising suddenly to her feet, flattening the creases from her uniform and slipping between the seats, lagging long enough to rest her hand stiffly against the back of her seat, and address Martin with a glare, "Sit in here on your own, and I'll deal with everything."

"I thought I was doing the walk-around." Martin uttered, turning fully in his seat to track her movements, the tempered hostility fading instantaneously from his posture, face, and tone, as he frowned in confusion.

"No need, I'm doing it." Deborah retorted through gritted teeth, striding towards the back of the flight-deck, and through to the Galley, "I need a few minutes away from you anyway."

oOoOoOo

The mood on the flight-deck didn't get any better, which meant that for the hour and a half it took to reach Lichtenstein, Deborah could sit in silence and feel more and more queasy at the prospect of greeting Theresa at the airport, as Martin refused in barely any words to leave the flight-deck upon her arrival. It wasn't even Theresa that Deborah was worried about, because she really was a lovely person…it was how Martin was going to react. Deborah didn't even know what she was expecting, but whatever it was, it was feeding on the faint insecurity that nestled in the back of her mind.

Mercifully, Arthur agreed to accompany Deborah down to the gate to meet Theresa and Maxi, which meant that if nothing else, she had some cheerful if a little guarded chatter to wash over her and keep her alert.

That didn't prepared Deborah for the flood of nerves that she was so unaccustomed to when she saw Theresa standing, as smart and beautiful as she had been the last time with her fair yet dark complexion, and Maxi at her side, five or six inches taller than he had been, but pouting as petulantly as ever.

"Theresa…hello." Deborah greeted the other woman, extending her hand for her to shake, before thinking better of it, just as Theresa performed a mirror's reflection of the action; instead she came to a stop before them, and folded her arms over her chest, "I've ended up playing the welcome party."

"And me!" Arthur declared, coming to a stop at her shoulder and giving a little wave, no doubt smiling in welcome and exuding his usual excitement, "Hello."

"Yes, hello…" Theresa replied, smiling tautly as she looked between the two of them, and clutching her hand luggage at her front like a life raft; she was as nervous as Deborah was, which was somewhat comforting.

"What about me?" Maxi grouched, but he didn't puff out his chest and try to snatch centre stage as he had the last time he had flown with them; apparently adolescent apathy could enslave even kings, "I'm the king, you're supposed to greet _me_."

"Sorry Maxi, I was just overcome with awe." Deborah assured him, smiling indulgently in his direction; she had liked him, as stubbornly pedantic and self-absorbed as he was, sort of like Martin had been when they had first met; nevertheless, it was better to get him out of the way for now, and to get the difficult part of the day over with, "Arthur, be a dear and run ahead with Maxi; I'm sure he'd love to meet Carolyn."

"Aw, Deborah-" Arthur began to resist her instructions, but Deborah raised her hand in front of him, cutting him off without even turning to look at him.

"Do it, please." Deborah instructed him, and this time he obeyed, with a little huff, ushering an indignantly rambling Maxi in his wake; that only left Theresa, fingers tapping idly against her beg, as she waited for a sign of some sort, that Deborah felt obliged to give, "So…how are you?"

"I'm good, all things considered." Theresa replied honestly, shrugging imperceptibly as if to say 'what can I do'; Deborah smiled in response, and made a small motion made a small motion with her hand, waiting patiently for the other woman to reach her side before starting a slow and steady pace back through the airport, ignoring the periphery bustle, "I wanted to apologise again for any inconvenience I'm causing you, and any discomfort-"

"There's no need to apologise." Deborah assured her quickly, giving Theresa a sidelong glance and another thin lipped smile, absolutely meaning what she said; she wasn't upset with Theresa personally, and the knowledge that all of her internal discomfort was inside her own head didn't help to quell the subtle nausea that had taken hold of her, "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Some people might consider it rude to force their company where they're not wanted." Theresa remarked wryly, smirking sardonically; her eyes travelled from Deborah's face to the floor, though she didn't falter or shake at all, "I see Martin isn't here…it's not too late for me to find another flight if he's uncomfortable."

"Martin's in a mood, but that's not your problem." Deborah informed her, careful not to inject any kind of negative emotion into her voice, something that she was normally so good at; it was easier to talk to Theresa than she had thought it would be, but it still wasn't the smooth conversation that would have been preferable, "He'll get over it."

"If I'm causing problems in your relationship-" Theresa insisted, but Deborah couldn't hear the rest of that sentence, lest it cause reality to shift as a result.

"Believe me Theresa, Martin and I have had bigger fights than this." Deborah interrupted calmly, but certainly, as if there wasn't a single shred of doubt in her mind; even so, her words betrayed her, "He promised that it didn't matter how furious he got, he wouldn't let it end us, so I'm…he'll get over it."

"I'm sorry." Theresa sighed, a breathy sound so riddled with guilt that Deborah's own trepidations were washed to the side-lines as concern for the other woman's happiness took its place.

"Stop apologising." Deborah shook her head, running a hand through her hair and nodding to the man that let them out onto the tarmac; perhaps this was the best way to get closure, for both of them, "Martin and I weren't together when you were around the first time…if anyone was in the wrong, it was him, for the way that he treated you."

"He never treated me badly, that's why I was so worried that I might upset _you_." Theresa amended hastily; she smiled as she continued to speak, though Deborah could hear the drooping edge to her tone, "Martin was always lovely, he was attractive, and funny, and he had a sort of…it wasn't quite a spark but a…"

"A Martin-ness." Deborah suggested wanly, taking her eyes from Theresa's face. There it was again, that pang of aching jealously, or it might have been fear; there was something about the reminder of someone else having appreciated that in Martin, having _had_ and _wanted _that, that brought home all the reasons that Deborah had reluctantly tried to push Martin at Theresa in the first place. She was a better option by far, and he deserved that.

"Yes!" Theresa agreed brightly, before reasserting her dour demeanour, as if as a sign of respect, not that Deborah thought she deserved it, "I can understand why someone might fall in love with him, and that is why I was cautious about booking, in case you felt…hurt, by my presence."

"I don't…I'll admit to being jarred, but that's only…" Deborah tried so hard to remain detached, but her resolve shattered almost immediately; it was remarkably difficult not to be honest, as she needed to feel in control, "That's because when you accepted his offer of a date, it hit me for the first time that I wasn't the only person in the world to appreciate…_Martin_…the way that he is."

"What do you mean?" Theresa asked, and it took all of one glance for Deborah to realise that she was genuinely confused, her eyebrows dipping slightly as her eyes narrowed, "I know that he can be _grating_, but Martin – how can anyone not like him?"

"Ah…" Deborah let out a sound of surprise, although she wasn't really surprised at all; she turned just a fraction as they walked, so that Theresa could see the small smirk that was curling the corner of her lips, fuelled by the sparks of affection that could warm any amount of drudgery, "Am I to assume that in the weeks that you dated, Martin never thought to mention his complete ineptitude when it comes to the rest of the human race?"

"Hmmm…" Theresa hummed thoughtfully, and as Deborah watched her expression morphed into one of understanding, and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head and smiling, "Now that I think about it, he was quite quiet whenever we were around other members of the human race."

"That's Martin." Deborah remarked, and for a moment, it felt as if the murky waters between the two of them were clearing, as she met Theresa's gaze, and they shared a wary smile; it wasn't her fault, Deborah knew that, and nothing good could ever come of leaving bridges thoroughly un-built; after all, if it hadn't been for _her_, Theresa might have been very happy with Martin…as miserable a thought as that was, "Are _you_ alright with this? I'm sorry about-"

"I'm alright." Theresa assured her, visibly relaxing into her stride, letting her bag fall to hang over her shoulder, as the tension began to disappear from the set of her limbs, "I was sad when Martin ended things, but I didn't hold it against him. We only knew each other a month or two…I'm not the sort of person to begrudge love over a few months."

"So you're not…" Deborah asked, and found that she didn't have the guts to finish her question, lest the answer be one that she didn't like.

"Heartbroken?" Theresa offered, raising her eyebrows and almost laughing, but tastefully avoiding such an act; Deborah held her breath, but there was no need, and Theresa batter a hand through the air, as if to show that there was nothing at all to worry about between them, "No…Martin's special, but he's not the end of the world; not for me anyway. I'm happy for the two of you."

And that was all it took to reassured Deborah that Theresa, as charming and lovely a woman as she was, meant her no harm or upset; perhaps it would become a little easier to breathe, just as it was easier to think, like the striking of a cool breeze. Nevertheless, as they approached GERTI, where only Carolyn stood awaiting their arrival, Deborah couldn't deny that the swelling wash of guilty nerves and doubt began to tremble once more at the base of her throat.

oOoOoOo

They were flying home now and Martin was still in a bad mood. There was no more of the frigid tension between them, but Deborah was highly aware of how silent he was being, sparing her only the most fleeting of glances, his expression soft despite the frown on his lips. Deborah suspected that he wanted to apologise for the way he had spoken to her, and ignored her, but was too proud to do so.

He hadn't left the flight-deck at all; that couldn't be allowed to go on. It was all well and good Deborah facing Theresa and clearing the waters between them, but Martin couldn't just bury his head in the sand. She _needed_ him to talk to Theresa, and to see her…Deborah was dreading what he might be thinking, why he didn't want to see her, what such a meeting might dredge up…but she had to get it over with, one way or another, for a sense of closure if nothing else.

"I'm going to the Cabin for a while." Deborah announced dully, flicking the controls so that Martin could fly GERTI without her assistance, and rising from her seat; she watched from the corner of her eyes as Martin lifted his head and pushed back the rim of his hat, his stony expression fading as his eyes followed her movements, "I'll send Theresa your way."

"Deborah, I don't-" Martin sighed, but she didn't want to hear the same argument again.

"You can't just hide in here and refuse to talk to her." Deborah informed him, tonelessly, wearily if anything, as she placed a hand on the back of her seat to stop from leaning into the particularly large bout of turbulence that came with Martin's distraction, "You sort out whatever's going through your head, then we'll talk."

"Debs- Debbie- Deborah!" Martin practically begged as she slipped through the gap between them, and his hand shot out to take hers, his fingers curling around hers as she slowed to a halt, and looked down at where they connected; her eyes flickered to his, and the _need_ in his gaze and the way he bit down on his bottom lip almost made her lose her nerve, "Please don't go."

But that wasn't enough, and had never been enough, to make Deborah give in, and she slipped her hand from Martin's, only to watch his shoulders droop as she turned and made her way towards the Cabin.

oOoOoOo

Sitting alone in Martin's van, in the late afternoon, wrapped in her coat and slouched to the point that she might have been able to place her feet on the dashboard if she had so desired, Deborah found herself wishing that she didn't have such a talent for introspection; if she were just a little bit less self-absorbed, then maybe she wouldn't be choking on miserable silence in a cold vehicle in the middle of an airfield, because she didn't want to spend more time than necessary around the rest of her crew.

It had been a good idea to have Martin talk to Theresa, but as the flight-deck door stayed closed longer than Deborah had expected, she began to realise, like the night creeping in to swallow the sun, why the clenching, harrowing mess in her stomach hadn't gone away, and why she felt so inexplicably anxious, with the same dreadful anticipation of the end that had seized her over a year ago.

When Deborah had heard Theresa's voice over the phone, it had been like being thrown back into one of the worst periods of her life; it turned out that there was still a certain hopelessness that festered in the pit of her chest, doubting, and wondering whether Martin would be thrust back to that time just as she had.

Whether the sight of his beautiful, smart, intimidating ex-'not my girlfriend' would remind Martin that he had given up the best opportunity of his life, and a wonderful woman, just to be with _Deborah_. Whether Martin would remember that she wasn't worth what he seemed to think she was, and if he would realise that he could have so much better.

Harry left her when he realised that she wasn't the woman that he had once idolised, as had the first one that she barely remembered, his illusion of perfection shattered when her career had been taking off…Chris had known from the start that she was an alcoholic pilot and therefore not worth any real commitment…that had been doomed from the start.

But Martin…Martin knew all of her faults, he had never thought that she was perfect save for in that odd way that he saw her, as if what made Deborah Richardson a cad were all beautiful little quirks. It would break her heart if he realised that they were just that…faults, and flaws, and not something to adore.

And he was the only one that Deborah would understand entirely when he did. The others had been partly delusional, and she supposed, looking back, that she had wanted them only because of what they represented in her life.

Martin…god, _Martin_…until a week ago Deborah had barely entertained a doubt that they were in love and doing well, and that their lives were made for them. Now there was a part of her wondering whether Martin would realise that he deserve so much better than life in Fitton with _her_.

Deborah was just snuggling deeper into her coat when the door swung open with a rusty creak, and the whole van dipped as Martin hoisted himself into the driver's seat, letting in a gust of cold air before he pulled the door shut; their royal passengers must have gone on their way then, and the paperwork been completed.

"What are you doing in the van?" Martin inquired, sniffing slightly as he shuffled to sit by her side, arm pressed gently against hers, and he turned towards her, one arm over the back of the seat as if he were waiting to drop it down over her shoulders; just like that, the apathy was gone from his tone, and Deborah didn't know what to do with that turnaround.

"I wasn't about to drive home without you." Deborah remarked wanly, making no effort to sit up, or lift her head from where it drooped just above her arms folded around her knees; she couldn't just be happy again as if they hadn't spent the day on the edge of a fight, even though she couldn't escape the caring sympathy that leaned ever in his favour, "I'm not that cruel."

"I never said you were." Martin replied calmly, and Deborah could tell that he was being deliberately kind, as if to make up for his behaviour; the warmth of his presence beside her was enough on its own to make her irritation fade, leaving only a sad puddle in her chest, "What I meant was – why are you in the van, all alone, when there's a draft coming through the crack in the ceiling?"

"I wanted to be on my own for a while." Deborah answered honestly, shrugging minutely and letting her legs slip slowly until her feet rested against the floor, "You haven't exactly been pleasant company today."

"You do understand why that is though, don't you?" Martin asked solemnly, and as Deborah tilted her head back to look up, he looked down at the hand on his lap, his eyes following the path of his thumb as he picked at his nails.

"No, I don't." Deborah muttered, pressing her lips into a thin line, even as she let the back of her head rest against the back of the wide seat, leaning ever so slightly on the crook of Martin's elbow, "I was able to get over having Theresa here, but you just stayed in a mood all day."

"You invited my ex onto _our_ plane, my safe place, without telling me." Martin sighed a low breath full of weary frustration, shaking his head and drawing his bottom lip through his teeth, shifting against her as if caught between a weightless shrug of his shoulders and curling in on himself, "How was I supposed to react?"

"I don't know." Deborah replied shortly, softly, unable to muster the energy to delve into the subject; she didn't want Martin to know what she had been thinking. Perhaps that was part of the problem.

"Y-you keep saying that." Martin stammered, his confusion evident in the flush of his cheeks and the crinkles, pinched set of his brow, "What don't you know? Why I've been in a bad mood?"

"That would be it." Deborah remarked curtly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, as if she might need to say something quickly, or interrupt, or even to defend herself.

"Right, okay, you want to know why I've been in a bad mood?" Martin demanded quietly, turning even more towards her, until his knee met the edge of the seat, his arm beushign against the back of her neck as he spoke, "Because I feel guilty! I-I love you, and I would never regret choosing you over- well, everything. But I just dropped Theresa, and I was scared that she might be angry, o-or upset, o-or that she hadn't forgiven me. So there – I'm a coward!"

"You're not a coward, Martin." Deborah countered, mustering the energy needed to sound just about certain as her eyes snapped up to trace the lines of his face; he was a lot of things, and she called him a lot of names, but she couldn't stand the idea of Martin, her handsome, prissy, pedantically petulant Captain, thinking so horribly untrue things about himself.

"No?" Martin raised his eyebrows, making it clear that he didn't believe her; Deborah simply shook her head and lifted her hand over her shoulder to hook her fingers around his, which made his stony expression soften, as his calloused hand closed around hers, and squeezed, "Sure…thank you, I suppose."

"And that was all it was?" Deborah inquired, as Martin settled back into the seat, adjusting his jacket as he moved; she knew the moment that the words left her lips that it had been the wrong decision.

"What did you think it was?" Martin retorted, the bridge of his nose crinkling just long enough for his eyes to narrow as realisation hit.

"Nothing…" Deborah assured him swiftly, letting his hand withdraw from hers, and sitting up quickly, rolling her shoulders back and assuming the posture of a woman discussing a matter of little importance, "I didn't know what to think."

"What are…oh, Deborah…" Martin trailed off as he looked into her eyes, leaning forwards and bridging the gap between them as if proximity might help him decipher the truth; it only served to make the pained light in his eyes more visible, "y-you thought that…that what?"

"I don't know what you're jabbering on about." Deborah replied, looking away, turning her head and dropping her chin so that the few untameable locks of hair fell over her cheek, and she could try to keep her lips from trembling as she stared unwavering at the dashboard; she didn't want to fight anymore, they'd already done that today.

"Y-yes you do. That's not your angry face, that's your upset face." Martin insisted, pointing loosely with his hand curled as the other ran over the back of his neck, and his cheeks blanched, erasing the charm of the red in them, "You thought I'd – what, change my mind? You _did!_ You said that you weren't mad at _her_, so it has to be me."

"I-I…" Deborah tried to think of something that she could say, something that might make her lack of faith less real, but nothing came; it was the truth, and she was too compromised already to make a real effort at denying it.

"You thought I'd ditch you and try and get Theresa back?" Martin demanded weakly, mouth agape as he looked at her, his hands shifting to gesture at himself, as if he were blaming himself, as he was wont to do.

"Martin-" Deborah started, but even she knew that it wouldn't stand against Martin's stunned horror; perhaps a part of her wanted him to know, so that he could give her a straight answer and she could just stop worrying.

"How could you possibly think that, after everything we've been through?" Martin's eyes were glinting in a way that made Deborah want to reach forwards and wrap her arms around him, to reassure him that there was no need for tears to be there at all; but his aghast demeanour sparked something else in her, something more desperate, like a light to an already sparking fuse.

"Because you _could_!" Deborah exclaimed weakly, her voice not quite holding, and she had to take a deep breath as Martin froze, eyes boring into hers, hands hovering in the air, "Martin, no matter how much you love me, and I _know_ that you do, there's still a small part of me that thinks that you could do so much better, and Theresa _is_ the better."

"You think I could do better?" Martin repeated, as if he were hearing some sort of new language; his hands lowered slowly to rest of his lap, and he seemed to sag imperceptibly, leaning sideways against the back of the seat, meeting her face to face.

"I think you could do anything you wanted." Deborah replied pathetically, she thought, knowing detachedly that this sort of thing would make flight-deck teasing just a tad less charged; but she meant it, every word, even though it ached to admit it, "That's why I love you. That's why I'm always pushing you to join in social events, and make friends with the grounds crew, and just try everything."

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but Martin didn't speak at first; he just looked at Deborah, his eyes flickering minutely over her face as if he were reading her, his upset anger replaced by a bewildered frustration, as his eyebrows dipped in the middle.

"You know what I've never understood about you – that I, I've always really loved as well?" Martin inquired, just as Deborah began to feel as if she couldn't just sit there any longer, and that she would have to say something.

"What?" she replied tentatively, blinking across at him, hoping that it was something good, something that she could work with.

What Deborah hadn't been expecting was for Martin to shift closer to her, slipping his knees from beneath him and raising his arm back up so that he could use his hand on her shoulder to pull her closer, bringing them back together.

"That even though you have the biggest, most obnoxious ego in the world, you still manage to have the self-esteem of a gnat." Martin concluded, as Deborah allowed herself to be lowered into his side, and his arm curled around her waist, encompassing her arm, hugging her into the warmth of his chest as he rested his cheek against her hair.

"One of those big gnats that survive when all the others have been squashed." Deborah added, unable to stop herself, buoyed imperceptibly by being accepted so readily back into Martin's arms now that he knew that there were doubts in her mind; he really was too good for her.

"See what I mean?" Martin asked, and she could feel him smirking into her hair, his breath puffing past her cheek as his arm squeezed a little tighter, a comforting embrace for him to take pleasure from as much as her.

"Perhaps…" Deborah reluctantly agreed; she turned just enough that she could shuffle down and rest her forehead against the curve of his chin and his neck, inhaling deeply and simply trying to eject the discomfort of the day from her mind, "I'm sorry Martin."

"That's alright, dear." Martin murmured in her ear, exhaustion beginning to creep into his voice, "Do you want to go home?"

"Only if we can stay here for a few more minutes." Deborah replied, slowly extracting her arm from where it pressed against her chest so that she could wrap it around Martin's instead; this was a good moment, one of reconciliation, and they had to cherish it for as long as was possible, "Then I'm going to bed, and I'm going to sleep, and you may join me if you wish."

Curled together as they were, Deborah could feel Martin's chuckle vibrating through his chest like a low tremor, and it was enough to allow her to close her eyes, and just enjoy being comfortable for the first time all day. Things weren't quite okay yet, there was definitely a lot of turbulence…but they would manage.

* * *

**I'm so glad I finished that tonight. I wanted to include Theresa at some point, and make it clear that she was never a villain even though deborah was having a tough time.**

**I hope you liked it. : )**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's been too long since I last updated - nearly a week since the other fic, even longer for this one. I've been experiencing uni for the first time, and I've been so emotionally and mentally drained by trying to socialise with strangers that I've been struggling to find time to write this. But, I should have more time now, and even though it might be a while, I will always update at some point.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Humming a lilting tune under her breath, and tying her hair back and out of the way, Deborah knelt beside the oven to retrieve the six or seven scolding trays in her glove clad hands, placing them on the counter just to the side. It was a reasonably cool day, but the pulsing heat from the oven was still a tad stifling from the floor; it was worth the minute discomfort for the sake of the quaint little cakes that all glistened in the bands of light from the window.

Martin was away on a van job, so Deborah had the flat to herself to experiment; nevertheless, he needed to be there for the last stage of her task. It was something to do though, baking, and something that she didn't often have time to indulge in; tomorrow was a special occasion though, so today was the day for special activities.

There were just a few more things to sort out before Martin came home; they were small touches, but highly significant, Deborah thought. Blowing across the top of the cakes, Deborah pushed the gloves from her hands and abandoned them on the counter, before turning and wandering lazily through to the sitting room, plucking her phone from where she had flung it onto the coffee table.

Pressing the device to her ear, Deborah inspected her nails and glanced protectively back into the kitchen as the dial tone rang dully and monotonously, cutting off with a click and a crackle.

"_Deborah. What do you want on your day off?" _Carolyn's voice rattled down the line, as sharp and disinterested as always, though perhaps not as world weary; it must have been a restful day so far, _"The day off that you have been nagging me about for the best part of a month."_

"Yes, hello Carolyn; always a pleasure." Deborah drawled, dropping down to lie back on the sofa, kicking her feet up on the coffee table, as she had been careful not to do when Martin was around to scold her for it; this was too important an occasion, and she had spent too long planning, for her to bother arguing, "I wanted to talk about tomorrow."

"_We're flying to Budapest tomorrow." _Carolyn replied matter-of-factly; she was being helpful, which was something, Deborah supposed, as the woman could just have easily have disregarded her request and obstructed her attempts at polite conversation, as she was wont to do,_ "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to expand upon that matter."_

"I meant after the flight." Deborah reiterated, picking at the corner of her thumb as she stared at the corner of the coffee table, shifting her feet and focusing on the call; the flight would be easy, and Martin would enjoy it, it was just the rest of the day that needed arranging, "Don't tell me that you've forgotten its Martin's birthday tomorrow?"

"_How could I?"_ Carolyn sighed, and it was easy to imagine her rolling her eyes and groaning, as Deborah smirked at the idea,_ "That's just one more thing that you've been nagging me about."_

"With good reason." Deborah remarked, smiling to herself as a warm fluttering filled her chest; it had been hard work, sneaking around and swearing Arthur to secrecy was worth it, especially given how well Martin was going to react when she unveiled her efforts.

"_Hmmm…" _Carolyn hummed down the line; that wasn't assent, but it wasn't a flat out refusal to hear her suggestions either, so all was still up in the air, so to speak, _"Well, as you know, I don't partake in all of these birthday traditions that you three are so fond of."_

"Unless of course you're the one receiving the gifts." Deborah retorted smoothly, awaiting the inevitable backlash; she could recall Arthur's failed attempt to surprise his mother with the unwanted appearance of his aunt very well. It was a day that none of them were likely to forget…the memory of Martin bruised and squealing simultaneously made her wince and smile reluctantly.

"_I'm not about to turn down gifts that you've all spent time and effort on." _Carolyn replied curtly, her hypocrisy bleeding through; it was good to hear that she was in a good mood, despite having her day off disturbed, _"Not that you or Martin have ever put that effort in."_

"Arthur is celebratory enough for all of us." Deborah countered wanly, pushing a hand through her hair; it was true, Arthur had been close to bursting for at least a week now, despite his duties being simple and fairly insignificant, and there being no real reason for imaginative endeavour. It was nice to have someone in on her schemes though, so Deborah had hushed him up and let him go about his own business.

"_Exactly, hence why if anything is provided for tomorrow, it will be Arthur's creation, not mine."_ Carolyn remarked dryly; the idea of Carolyn providing special circumstances for Martin had never entered Deborah's mind.

"Arthur said he was bringing decent food for the flight, just to make it special." Deborah explained, deliberately clinging to the hope that everything would run smoothly, but knowing that with Arthur's involvement, it probably wouldn't; she couldn't be sure, but that sentiment probably leeched into her dull tone of voice, "Normally I'd be worried, but I gave him a list of things Martin particularly likes, so he can't deviate too much."

"_Then why are you calling me?"_ Carolyn inquired, the exasperation in her tone wild and evident,_ "I would have assumed, given the state of your relationship, that _you_ would be seeing to any 'celebrations'."_

"Oh, believe me I am." Deborah drawled, smirking at the audible huff and wince from the other end of the line; for all that she used her crew as pawns in her odd relationship with Herc, Carolyn was still beautifully disgusted by the fluffy interactions between her pilots, "However, I thought it might be nice, so long as you haven't made other plans, if the four of us hunted down a restaurant in Budapest and had a sort of…company meal."

"_You think that the one thing Martin will want, after spending his birthday in a flying metal tube with us, is to spend even more time in our presence?"_ Carolyn clarified, sounding unconvinced despite the ingenuity of the plan; if it had been four, perhaps even three years ago, Deborah might have agreed with the sentiment.

"No. I think that Martin will love being the centre of attention, and feeling as if we all care." Deborah answered honestly, swallowing the temptation to play it cool and aloof; sitting on the sofa and behaving like a guard dog watching her cakes was hardly a position to be in when pretending not to care, "I will of course be making his day and night as…enjoyable as possible, but I think that the four of us going out to dinner is important."

"_Oh, if you say so."_ Carolyn groaned, and Deborah couldn't help but grin triumphantly; there was no doubt however that she would try and receive some sort of quid pro quo,_ "Deborah, I-"_

Mercifully though, the sound of the front door clicking and swishing open alerted Deborah to the entrance that she had missed, presumably too distracted to have heard the rumbling of the van; turning to peer over the back of the sofa, Deborah smiled warmly at the sight of Martin shirking his coat and kicking the door closed with the back of his foot, and pressed the warm plastic of the phone more tightly against her ear, sucking her head so that he wouldn't see it when he turned around.

"Got to go, Martin's home." Deborah whispered hastily, and with that she hung up, dropping the phone onto the cushions beside her and leaping to her feet, plastering on a genuinely welcoming expression; pleasured even further by the reflexive smile and the flush in Martin's cheeks, she strode across the room to meet him, flinging her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close enough that she could feel the warmth of his chest against hers, and press a kiss to his cheek before resting her own against it, "Martin, darling, how was your day?"

"It was alright I suppose…better now that I'm home." Martin replied, his voice low and pleasantly surprised as his arms wound around her, and he hugged her close, the palm of his hand pressing and rubbing circles at her back between her shoulder blades; Deborah didn't think that she would ever grow tired of the charming little sparks of happiness that flickered from her stomach to her lungs at the sensation of being tucked and curled around him, even as Martin leant back just so and remarked, "Why do I get the feeling you've done something that you don't want me to know about?"

"On the contrary, I'm simply pleased to see you." Deborah purred, leaning back enough that she could rest the curves of her arms around Martin's shoulders, and meet his blue eyes, take in the attractive red flush at him cheeks as his lips curled, and he held her close and comfortably; with all of her celebratory scheming, Deborah had found herself caught by a wonderful tumult of affection that had carried her throughout the week, but made it hard to let him walk out the door on jobs when she was craving his company so, "I've missed you today; barely stopped thinking about you."

"Oh, you really are in a good mood." Martin remarked, scrunching his nose as he dipped his chin down to press his lips to hers, and Deborah responded in kind, enjoying the intimacy; after a moment, she realised that he wasn't just making adorable faces, but was in fact sniffing the air, his eyes wandering over her shoulders and towards the kitchen, "Have you been cooking?"

"Baking in fact; very different." Deborah corrected him, smirking at the way his eyebrows pinched and he tried to peer into the kitchen; after indulging in one last kiss, Deborah slapped her palms gently against Martin's shoulders, and took a step back, taking his hand and pulling him in her wake across the room, relieved to _finally_ be able to take the last steps in her plans, "Come and have a look."

Martin allowed Deborah to lead him into the kitchen, trotting behind her and nosing over her shoulder, sniffing loudly as he inspected the neat rows of fairy cakes, still nestled in their baking trays; the interested glitter in his widening eyes was more rewarding than the perfectly shaped and risen fruits of her labours.

"Wow…someone's been busy." Martin whistled through his teeth, and reached out as if to poke at one of the larger cakes, and then hastily withdrew his hand and smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hands together; his other arm rested at Deborah's back, tracing idle circles on her back, "Not that I'm complaining…but why do we need this many fairy cakes?"

"Because, I need to work out what type of cake you prefer." Deborah explained proudly, cherishing the surprise that flashed across Martin's face, and the small bright sound that squeaked in his throat; it was nice this, discovering new kinks in their relationship that they hadn't covered yet, and then smoothing them out, "I can't bake you the perfect cake each year if I don't know which is your favourite."

"Oh, _Deborah_." Martin exclaimed, as if he couldn't be sure whether to be exasperated or flattered, as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth and rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck; either way, it wasn't hard to see the appreciation shining wetly in his eyes, even as he leaned his head against the top of hers, "You didn't have to go to all this trouble; we're going to be on GERTI for most of tomorrow anyway."

"Which is exactly why we need cake to cheer us up." Deborah remarked brightly, gazing up at his face; perhaps she was just in a particularly good mood, but Martin _did_ look handsome today, a bit red faced and worn from a long day's lifting and lugging furniture, "Besides, I've been on my own all day with nothing to do; it was this, or rearranging your bookcase."

"No, you mustn't do that." Martin muttered distractedly, still wavering between touching and not touching her handiwork; if he had been a dog, his mouth would have been watering with desire, "Mmm, they smell delicious."

"They should all _taste_ delicious." Deborah drawled, grinning as she leaned into his embrace and pressed her lips to his shoulder; then she stepped away and waved her hand over the various trays, getting down to business, "What I've done, is made three cakes for each consistency – sponge, madeira, you get the picture. Within each consistency, I've made three different mystery flavours, of which you need to choose one."

"So you want me to eat all of these cakes so that you know which one I like best?" Martin inquired, coyly, as if he were being offered a holy grail that he wasn't allowed to possess, his eyes flickering between Deborah and the cakes; a small smirk crept onto his lips, indicating a job well done, "Are we forgoing real food today?"

"It is your birthday tomorrow." Deborah reminded him, as if he hadn't been jittering in anticipation for days already; it was always fun to lead Martin from the path of the righteous and into the waters of playfulness, "I think we can get away with eating a lot of cake for dinner tonight. Right – onto the tasting. And, rest assured, although I used my grandmother's recipes for some of these, I made sure to leave out the almonds."

There were many things that they still needed to learn, but a lot that they didn't; Deborah had paid enough attention to Martin's comings and goings to know that giving him almonds was tantamount to signing his death sentence – or, that had been the message that she had received from the way that he had panicked the first and only time he had been exposed to them on board GERTI.

"Thank you…" Martin sighed, his expression softening as he pulled Deborah close and hugged her tightly; anyone would think that such a simple consideration was the greatest gesture of love that he had ever been given, as when he pulled away, his eyes never left her face, and his voice was filled with something akin to reverence, "I love you."

"You haven't tasted them yet." Deborah retorted fondly, and with that she pushed him away with a gentle hand, fighting a laugh that pricked at the corners of her lips.

From there the afternoon washed away, in tides of laughter, as Deborah lifted each cake daintily to Martin's lips, only to have him grapple it from her and bring it to hers, forcing her to taste everything that she foisted on him; laughing turned to giggling and playful struggling, and before either of them knew it, they were giggling and toppling into bed, frightfully happy with the world.

oOoOoOo

Predictably, or at least it should have been, the flight to Budapest didn't go according to plan; in reality, Deborah's plans for a smooth, Martin-pleasing flight, should never have even formed what with her prior knowledge of how their life worked. It was interesting though, and it wouldn't have been a good MJN flight without something going wrong; the only way that things could have been worse was if they had had passengers.

About an hour into the air, during a comfortable lull in the game that Deborah had struck up, Martin sat up a little straighter in his seat, and pushed his hat back atop his head, scrunching his nose up as he sniffed, and looked around at the controls and over his shoulder. Deborah shifted slightly, unhooking one leg from over the other and losing the relaxation in her shoulders so that she would be able to react if she had to, though she doubted that anything serious was occurring, as Martin was quick to fret.

"Can you…can you smell smoke?" Martin asked, still peering around the flight-deck, almost clambering over the side of his seat in his search for the elusive scent; his expression pinched into an odd blend of perplexed nervousness, "That is smoke that I can smell – not – no, I'm not imagining it."

"Hold on." Deborah sighed, resting both of her hands on the arms of her seat, and inhaling deeply just to placate him; GERTI was always alerting them to things that weren't really happening, so she doubted that there was anything truly wrong while the lights were all dim, and the warnings silent…or so she had thought, "Yes, I actually _can_." It was faint, but it was definitely there, the ashy odour that couldn't possibly be mistaken; Deborah's eyebrows knitted, as she ran her eyes over the corners of the flight-deck, ignoring Martin's flailing at her side, " That's _weird_."

"Forget weird!" Martin squawked, inhaling sharply and glaring at her; he really was an overly dramatic worrier, "Where's it coming from?"

"I don't know." Deborah replied honestly, refreshingly bewildered by the inexplicable smell of smoke that was nonetheless drifting around the small space; she reached forwards, shifting to perch more efficiently in her seat, and pressing and turning the controls, pursing her lips in confusion, "The controls are all working…we're flying normally…it's just smoke."

While Deborah jabbed idly at the controls, tapping here and there, adjusting the altitude and speed just to test that everything was in fact in order, Martin flicked the switch for the intercom.

"Arthur, are you cooking something?" Martin demanded perhaps a little too harshly, though that could be excused given that he was actually investigating instead of panicking, as he might have once upon a time.

"_No." _Arthur sounded the perfectly normal approximation of confused, so there couldn't have been anything going wrong in the Cabin; Deborah took this as her cue to continue waggling the controls to see if any of them provided an explanation, _"Would you like me to? I'm sure there's something in the Galley."_

"No, thank you Arthur." Martin sighed, and as he flicked the intercom off, he slumped back in his seat and went to push a hand through his hair, knocking his hat back in the process; the weight of the world might as well have settled on his shoulders, "Well, that's it; we're going to have to ditch in somewhere."

"For once, Captain, I agree wholeheartedly." Deborah murmured, barely catching the throaty noise that Martin made which indicated his surprise; no matter how much she batted at the controls, and twisted this and that, she couldn't work out where the smoke was coming from, it was maddening, "Would you like me to contact ATC?"

"No it's alright, I've got it." Martin replied wanly; the despair in his voice and the slump in his shoulders survived throughout the entirety of his conversation with ATC, and all the way through the adjustment of their course to the nearest airport.

"Stop wobbling the controls!" Martin snapped after watching Deborah do just that for five minutes more; she sat back, lifting her hands into the air and raising her eyebrows at him, which was enough to make Martin groan and grimace apologetically at her, "I can't believe it – today of all days; it just wouldn't be my birthday without something going wrong."

"I'm sorry darling." Deborah remarked, dropping her arm across the gap between them to brush the backs of her knuckles against his; as Martin nodded, she plastered on a coy smirk, eager to resurrect the mood as quickly as possible, "As soon as night falls I'll make sure to have things go _very_ right."

"Thank you, dear." Martin murmured, clumsily batting her hand in an attempt to wind his fingers around hers; if anything, the way that he tried to smile, and gazed warmly, longingly into Deborah's eyes, was enough to make up for the sour turn that his mood had taken.

It made her feel as if she were the one bright spot in the cloudy mess of Martin's day…and that was rather nice.

oOoOoOo

Martin had been a bit…off since his birthday; nothing bad, and nothing particularly worrying…it just seemed harder to maintain a conversation with him lately, and while he was happy to sit with his arm around Deborah's shoulders, or curled around her, he would drift off as if in thought, his hands rapping, jittering, on whatever was within his reach.

That was alright though; if Martin needed his peace every now and again, then Deborah was as willing to give him that as he was willing to allow her time to ruminate occasionally. They simply functioned that way; most of the time they were inseparable, sometimes bickering enough so that there was never a lack of passionate affection when the bickering stopped, as if to make up for what they had missed…but every now and then it was nice to be near each other, but to have just enough time to themselves that they didn't quite start to miss each other.

So today, when Martin had dropped down behind his desk to sort out his log book and whatever other paperwork he found in the works, Deborah had dropped a kiss on his cheek and given his shoulders a squeeze, before letting him be and retreating back to GERTI, where Arthur was still clearing up after their previous flight.

"So what are you up to tonight?" Deborah inquired lazily, lounging on the reclined seat of Row A, and watching Arthur push his vacuum cleaner up and down the aisle in short truncated sweeps; she had been trying especially hard not to let herself become too detached from what was going on in Arthur's life since she and Martin had become more involved in each other; as her oldest friend, it would have been wrong of her to neglect him, "Feet up, or the thrilling night life of Fitton?"

"Um, that depends on what Mum's doing." Arthur replied, shrugging as he glanced over his shoulder; Deborah quirked her eyebrows, and he elaborated further, "She's been a bit down lately, because Herc's too busy to really talk – but don't tell her I said that."

"I see." Deborah hummed, nodding sagely; Carolyn could prevaricate all she liked, there was no denying that she was attached to Herc, and still missing him for every day that he was still in Switzerland, "You've come up with a plan to cheer her up then?"

"Oh, yeah!" Arthur assured her, turning and heading back towards her, pushing the vacuum cleaner in front of him; he had to raise his voice over the rattling and whirring screech, but that didn't temper his confidence, "The amateur dramatic society in Fitton's putting on a play tonight, one of the gory ones that Mum likes, so I thought I'd get her to go to that with me."

"Perhaps…" Deborah replied uncertainly, pursing her lips as she tried to imagine Carolyn watching the youth and elderly of Fitton prancing about on a makeshift stage; it would have been humorous if she hadn't been sure that the repercussions would fall upon _them_ the next day, "I'm sure the gore with make up for the rather _amateur_ aspect of the performance. In fact, I don't think anything would cheer Carolyn up like the sight of amateur actors getting murdered."

"Yeah, she likes that sort of thing." Arthur agreed thoughtfully, he turned off the cleaner with a click, and as Deborah's ears adjusted to the ringing silence, stood it up to prop himself up on, and turned his attention back to her, "Have you not got anything planned then?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Deborah admitted dryly, doing nothing to adjust her slouch; when Martin was finished with his paperwork, then she would move, but until then, nothing could move her from the slither of comfort that she had managed to discover on the plane, "Why?"

"No reason." Arthur answered, a little too quickly, his eyes darting across the floor; he really was a terrible liar, his face going a funny red colour even now, "It's just, I'm hovering, and you're still here. Which is brilliant, but I'd have thought that you'd be in the porta-cabin with Skip, or going home with him, or…I don't know; not still on the plane though."

"I thought I'd let Martin do his paperwork in peace." Deborah sighed, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly and smiling thinly; it wasn't exactly an inconvenience, so there was no real reason to feel dejected or bored.

"That's nice of you." Arthur remarked, nodding slowly; a moment of silence stretched between them, in which Deborah simply hummed her agreement, and Arthur's expression shifted into something that might have been concern, as he shifted to stand a little straighter, peering at down Deborah, "Are you alright? It's just, I was waiting for you to say something then, but you didn't."

"I'm fine, it's just…" Deborah thought about lying and brushing off the inquiry, but then something in her throat caught, and she couldn't; there was no point lying to Arthur, and it wouldn't hurt to share the thoughts that hadn't quite made it to the light yet, "I've been giving Martin a lot of peace recently. I'm actually starting to miss him."

"But you see him at home?" Arthur asked, as if that solved everything; in his world, it probably did.

"Yes, of course I do." Deborah replied nonchalantly, curling her arms around her middle as she settled more comfortably into the reclining seat; it was entirely true that she and Martin were joined at the hip, so she didn't really have anything to be complaining about, "But he's been…distracted, I suppose. He's perfectly affectionate, I just miss the banter."

"Do you think something's happened?" Arthur's voice lowered into a conspiratorial hush that on any other day might have been amusing, but today was just about right; Deborah couldn't deny that the thought had crossed her mind once or twice, in her darker moments, with nothing to distract her.

"It might have." Deborah muttered, tipping her head back so that she could inspect the dusty curve of the ceiling; Martin was trustworthy though, so she had nothing to worry about, "But if it were a matter of life and death, he'd have told me by now. I'm sure that everything will be okay in a while; it's just waiting for that while to pass that's not so fun."

"Oh…" it was clear that Arthur didn't know what to make of that, but as always, his relentless faith in the world carried him through to a smile, and he patted the vacuum cleaner for emphasis as he reassured her, "I'm sure everything's fine."

Before Deborah had time to do much more than quirk her eyebrows in a facsimile of acceptance, the Cabin door creaked open, letting in the hazy wash of early evening sky, and the reasonably smart cut of the Captain, his uniform pulled neatly around his shoulders and his hat clasped in his hands; Deborah noticed immediately that Martin wasn't quite himself, the absence of his hat on his head being the first indicator, so pulled her seat upright the moment that she laid eyes on him, and waited for his head to stop darting this way and that in search of her.

"There you are." Martin panted when his eyes fell upon Deborah's expectant expression, as if he had been jogging up the metal steps to try and find her; he was probably just anxious to go home, having noticed that she hadn't I fact waited in the porta-cabin (so distracted had he been before), "I was wondering where you'd got to."

"Well, now you've found me." Deborah remarked brightly, pleased to see that Martin had returned to the land of the aware and undistracted; she swung her legs down onto the floor, and rose to her feet, just as Martin stepped forwards to stand beside Row A, helping her up with a hand dropped to his side, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yep – I-I mean, yes and no…" Martin replied, and he tried to smile, a charming scarlet flush seeping into his cheeks, as his hands wandered through the air, eventually landing on Deborah's back; he jittered as if he were caught between dissolving into a cuddle and leading her away, completely oblivious to Arthur's presence, as his eyes never left her face, "Come on, we can talk on the way back to the car."

"Alright, have it your way." Deborah feigned an exasperated sigh, but allowed Martin to turn clumsily on his heel and take her by the hand, gripping perhaps a tad too tightly; before they could make it through the doors, she tugged in return and called over her shoulder, "I'll see you tomorrow Arthur; have fun tonight."

"Okay, you too." Arthur replied, waving quickly and grinning as he watched them disappear; Deborah couldn't even see him anymore when he raised his voice and shouted cheerfully in their wake, "Bye Skip."

"Goodbye Arthur." Martin practically yelled, though his tone was so automatic that Deborah wasn't sure he had heard anything at all, and that he wasn't simply functioning on auto-pilot; it wasn't until they were at the bottom of the steps that Martin even slowed, so that he could shrug his jacket more tightly around his chest against the faint breeze, and grimace apologetically at Deborah.

"You _don't_ want to go home then?" Deborah inquired, arching her eyebrows and trying not to smirk fondly as she hooked her arm through his, and Martin slipped his hands into his pockets, allowing her to start up a slow pace towards the car-park; it didn't take more than a glance at his cheeks, flushed enough that the freckles almost faded into the soft angles of his face, and the fluttering of his eyes, to know that he was nervous about something.

"Um, no – I thought we could do something romantic." Martin replied brightly, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth and stumbling slightly as he turned to face her while walking; he raised his free palm into the air, as if he were proposing a project of some sort, "N-not a date, or anything like that, just something nice, l-like when we go up on the roof of the porta-cabin."

"It's a bit too damp to be going up there tonight; but it's a lovely idea." Deborah remarked, giving the idea serious consideration, and leaning into Martin's side just a tad; after a week or so of detachment, this sudden lathering of attention was enough to warm the strings in her chest, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. I um, I didn't really think that far ahead – it was a spur of the moment idea." Martin laughed apologetically, more of a nervous chuckle really; his fingers were winding anxiously around hers, shifting and bumping their knuckles together, "Where do _you_ want to go? If you could go anywhere – w-within reason, a-and within a twenty mile radius."

"There's a park in the next town that I've always wanted to visit." Deborah mused, unable to keep the warm smile from rippling onto her lips and infecting her whole expression, as she hummed affectionately and leaned into the comfortable warmth of Martin beside her; this was nice…surprising, but nice…"It's supposed to be beautiful; a designated area of natural beauty actually."

"I didn't know that." Martin murmured, pausing in his stride sharply enough that Deborah was only saved from tripping by his grip on her hand; when she looked up into his eyes, it was to find him surveying her with an odd expression, his brow furrowed in what might have been curiosity, "Why haven't you mentioned that before?"

"It's never seemed particularly important." Deborah replied honestly, shrugging her shoulders and putting just enough weight on Martin's arm that he started walking across the tarmac once more; with everything else that had happened between them, the past year and a bit had passed in a haze of getting things right, and insignificant trifles had been the last thing on Deborah's mind.

"But you've never been on your own?" Martin asked, in the same tone of voice that he might have used if he had been asked whether he had ever shown an interest in planes; as the sort of man that would happily trot around Duxford on his own, he had never seemed to understand Deborah's tendency to withhold herself from the things that she enjoyed.

"I don't know about you, darling, but I've always thought that there was something quite sad about visiting parks on one's own." Deborah drawled, smirking when she heard Martin snort at her side; she was the sort of person to relax at home, but when out of the house, everything had a purpose, and was structured for appearance's sake.

"Yes, it is a bit." Martin chuckled, then his eyes widened, and his cheeks managed to turn an ever darker shade of red, as he hastily tried to amend his previous statement; Deborah could only hold in a giggle at his efforts, "Not that you're sad – you're not – I'll…I'll stop now."

oOoOoOo

The park really was beautiful, especially in the near night air, with quaint little lamps posted along the footpaths to ensure that its guests remained illuminated at all times; thrilling adventures were alright, but every now and then Deborah couldn't help but be charmed by the blankets of intricately arranged flowers and trees, and the overall impression of a fairy-tale devised for the sake of dog walkers and adolescents sneaking away from their homes.

As the sky washed from a pale blend into a dark mass spackled by pricks of light and muggy wisps of cloud cover, and Deborah's feet began to ache just a tad, they found a bench that wasn't vandalised or occupied, between the tree line and a small approximation of a lake; it was there, sat back comfortably with Martin's arm around her waist, her head resting against his shoulder, wonderfully surrounded by the warmth of his form and his attention, that Deborah felt her mind laying down to rest after a week of wondering and worrying.

"This is lovely." Deborah murmured, inhaling deeply as she felt the zip of Martin's jacket brushing against her cheek, and his breath against her hair; they didn't even have to be doing anything in particular for this to be pleasant…it was just good to be close to someone who understood and appreciated her.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Martin agreed, a low noise in the base of his throat, as his hand curled reflexively around her waist; he was still fidgeting and jittering against her, but he had barely said a word of nervousness, so Deborah didn't bother to find out what was bothering him. He would tell her when he was ready.

"Well, don't take all of the credit; coming here was my idea." Deborah purred, letting her eyes trace the slightly grimy veneer of the water of the lake; she had to give him some credit though, for taking the initiative, "I am glad that you suggested an outing though."

"Hmmm…." Martin hummed happily, his chest rumbling pleasantly against Deborah's side; then his eyes widened, and his eyebrows dipped; he shifted so that he could look her in the eyes, "Wait, hold on - there was a tone there, there was definitely a tone."

"No tone…I cross my heart." Deborah promised, playfully pouting her lips and making a little crossing motion over her chest; Martin's eyes continued to trace over the lines of her face, so she sighed, and indulged his interest, "It's just…you've seemed quite distracted lately, and I've let you be; it's nice to be away from home and without distractions. It's nice to have all of your attention."

"You've always got my attention." Martin replied determinedly, but he blinked sheepishly, pressing his lips together as he finally tore his eyes from her face to look over the lake; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck as he spoke, finally explaining the question that Deborah hadn't asked, but had been dying to, "I…I'll admit, I have been a bit…I've been doing my own thing, but I _have_ been thinking of you, all the time."

"You know, instead of thinking about me, you _could_ be _with_ me." Deborah suggested coyly, batting her eyelashes at him, making him blush all the more as his arm fidgeted around her waist; she was relieved that there was nothing truly wrong, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy teasing him, "It's just as pleasant, I assume."

"Of course, I'd rather be _with_ you." Martin retorted hastily, his lips curling into a smile that he seemed too nervous to maintain, ducking his head down as of to hide his face; Deborah allowed a few inches of space to appear between them, though Martin's arm remained a comforting presence around her waist, "But I…I-I needed to be thinking and working things out these past few weeks, so I-I-I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you, I haven't been trying to, I-"

"You haven't been neglecting me; it's been peaceful." Deborah assured him softly, letting her hand drop down to rest upon his knee, squeezing gently, "Is there something wrong? Something that I can help with perhaps?"

"No, nothing's wrong." Martin shook his head, plastering on a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; without another word, his hand stopped jittering, and he pulled Deborah closed with the arm around her waist, resting his cheek against the top of her head, letting whole minutes of silence pass by, and her guard drop back down into calm, before asking in a tone of voice that barely rose above a whisper, "Hey, Deborah?"

"Yes Martin?" Deborah replied, just as quietly, cocking her eyebrows even though Martin couldn't see the motion.

"I…I need to talk to you." Martin remarked, stammering and swallowing hard enough that Deborah could _hear_ his throat bobbing nervously; Deborah turned obediently as Martin pulled back from her, so that he could look her in the eye, "I-it's nothing bad, i-it's just…it's important, so um…" he began arranging himself, turning so that their knees knocked, and he could take both of her hands in his, grasping tightly enough that it might have stung if Deborah hadn't been so intrigued, "Come here, like that…there…here we go."

"Are you alright?" Deborah inquired, attempting to decipher the emotion in Martin's eyes, ignoring the loose strands of hair that fell into her line of sight as her hands were unavailable to clear her field of vision; it had been a while since Martin had been so…pent up, and that was troubling.

"I am – I-I'm fine." Martin nodded quickly, stumbling over his words; something about the way that he looked at her made little moths whirl in Deborah's chest, but they were tempered with trepidation, "I just…I just wanted to ask whether, um…" Martin ducked his head again, and shook his head, flushing and biting down on his bottom lip, "No, hold on, this isn't working – come back, it was better like this."

Moving jerkily, Martin released Deborah's hands and shuffled back to her side, winging his arm around her waist as before and tugging her close, embracing her, clinging despite his deliberate positioning, facing steadfastly forwards; it was enough to elate the hardness in her guts and made Deborah laugh and relax into his hold.

"Ah, there's the perfectionist I love, Captain." Deborah drawled, shifting so that her arm lay along his, and she could slip her fingers into the gaps between his at her waist; this didn't explain what he was up to though, "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything – there!" Martin exclaimed suddenly, when their position was perfect in his opinion, though Deborah couldn't pinpoint what it was that he had perfected; it might have been that she could now see his face and look into his eyes, which were darting here there and everywhere as he stuttered, "Alright…okay…fine, this is fine…o-kay…"

"Martin, darling, calm down." Deborah instructed sternly, forcing herself not to smirk at Martin's typical floundering; something was going on in his head, but she couldn't begin to imagine what it was, "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." Martin replied, more certainly than before, almost stilling and nodding as if to himself; this confidence lasted all of a fraction of a second, before he was shuddering again, his words tumbling over one another, "Debs- Deborah…I…h-h-how would you feel i-i-if I, um, if I were to, um, howouldyoufeelifiaskyoutomarme!"

"I'm sorry?" Deborah remarked, her brow knitting as she ran her eyes over his face, shifting away so that she didn't have to tip her head back; she was used to having things blurted at her, but this was a particularly vivid example of Martin's way with words.

"How…would you feel…" Martin repeated, his voice shaking more than his hands seemed to be against his knees, while he steadied himself, and bit down on his lip, his eyes boring into Deborah's; it was his 'Captain' face, that he donned when the alarms blared and he had to make a command decision, "i-if I asked you to marry me?"

"_Martin_…" Deborah could hardly let out a breath of air, as she felt her expression wash clean of everything, and her eyes open wide, as she blinked slowly at him; her heart seemed to stutter to a halt, caught off guard by the rush of hot and cold flutters that raged in her lungs, and made her mind freeze like a tape at the end of its reel.

Understanding arrived within a matter of seconds, but processing Martin's request tool moments more, as Deborah was overwhelmed with a rush of emotion, raw thrill and glittering joy shimmering through her veins and making her eyes prickle, a lump form in her throat. She had known that this might come, one day, they had spoken about this sort of thing; Deborah knew that Martin wanted her indefinitely…but this was…different…beautifully, wonderfully different, and she needed to get her head in gear.

"You don't have to answer me now." Martin assured her hastily, raising his hands into the air as if in surrender; his jaw was trembling as he spoke, and his eyes looked as damp as Deborah's felt.

"Oh, _darling…"_ was all that Deborah could say, as she reflexively laid her hand over her chest, as if to pin down the flurry of affection that surged in her lungs; Martin had told her, a long time ago, that he would ask permission before doing _anything_ like this, but she hadn't anticipated how his coy professionalism would impossibly make her love him even more than she already did.

"That's um, that's not an answer." Martin murmured, almost as if he was afraid to do so; he stared down at his lap, his eyes flickering up to meet hers every now and again, as his hands wound together.

"No, of course it's not." Deborah let out a truncated laugh that could have been a dry sob, and Martin lifted his head, a smile appearing on his lips as if the sound of her amusement was infectious; she could barely raise her voice beyond a breathy sigh as she said, "I…I think I'd be alright with that, if you wanted to ask me."

"Yes?" Martin's expression was so full of hope, and he leaned into her space, until their forehead could have touched if he moved much closer; it felt like balancing on a ledge, over which there was only absolutely wonderful things.

"Yes." Deborah replied, and she couldn't hold Martin's gaze, in case the pricking at her eyes became something more; nevertheless, a grin crept its way across her lips, and she slipped her hands across the space between them to take Martin's and curl her fingers around his, like an anchor.

"Oh, that uh, that wasn't the proposal!" Martin amended sharply, his voice shrill and sudden, as if he had been electrocuted; he gripped her hands though, even as his chest heaved and he flushed charmingly, "I-I-I-I wanted to ask you if you were okay with that, and then I was going to go and do it properly, with a ring, and a proper location, and-"

"Martin, this is fine." Deborah chuckled, shaking her head and grinning down at their joined hands; of _course_ he couldn't just let things be, he had a plan, and he was sticking to it…she didn't know what she would have done if he hadn't been so strict…cried probably...laughter was better.

"No, it's not-" Martin started, but he cut himself off as Deborah batted him with the back of her hand, and he caught sight, as if for the first time, of the unfaltering smile that stretched across her face.

"I don't need a proper location, or a ring." Deborah assured him, taking a deep breath and steadying herself, closing her eyes for just a moment, so that she could eradicate the park and the night sky, and just commit the red faced hope on Martin's face; when she opened them again, he was still looking at her just as indulgently, "This is fine, I like this."

"Yeah…yes, I, yes, alright…" Martin conceded, a wobbly smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and lighting up his face, as he took back Deborah's hands and leaned into her space, still shaking, "Wow, okay, wow…so is this a proposal then? Are we getting engaged?"

"I don't know?" Deborah laughed, shaking her head; it felt like being lost at sea, but fantastically so, with the one person that she couldn't live without, however much he flailed and stammered, "It's your show Martin."

"Right…right…um…I've got this!" Martin declared, and with that he sat back and slid from the bench, stumbling as he tried to drop onto his knee, having to grasp at Deborah's knees to keep himself upright; trembling and taking deep breaths, he ran his eyes over her face, then down to his hands, as which point he still, and then beamed, and began working his father's signet ring from his right hand, "This is…this might work until I can get a proper one."

"No, Martin, this is good." Deborah interrupted him, reaching forwards and wrapping her hands around his, holding him until he stilled, and the fight left his expression; financial worries aside…Martin was almost surgically attached to that ring…if he was prepared to give it to _her_ for any length of time…that was more of a gesture than anything she had ever received, "This is…this is perfect, I like this. I love you."

"Alright…" Martin nodded decidedly, and his jaw set; taking one last breath, Martin held the ring out to her, glanced at the ground as if it were doing him a personal injustice by seeping dampness into his trousers, and then lifted his chin to meet her eyes, "Deborah…will you marry me – if you want to – o-or, no, not or – will you marry me – there, that one, that was good."

"That was good; very good-" Deborah replied warmly, unable to take her eyes from his; this was perfect, and she didn't think that she had ever loved Martin more.

"No, wait!" Martin cut her off, pouting as if he had been denied the best part of this whole farce; he lowered his hands and rested them atop Deborah's knees, "I have more – I-I want to say more."

"Alright then." Deborah agreed, nodding slowly and smirking as she leaned forwards, resting her weight on her elbows, propped atop her knees; that was more like what she was used to; it was a good projection of what her life would be like from now on, "I'm looking forward to this."

Martin nodded hastily and released a shuddering breath, and with that he rose from the ground to perch on the edge of the bench beside her, taking Deborah's hands in his; the sensation of the signet ring, a hard curve pressed between their palms, only added to the shivering down her windpipe.

"Yeah….I…I just wanted to say that, _I love you_." Martin remarked, swallowing hard and blinking as if to try and bat away smoke; then, just as he was wont to once in a blue moon, Martin stilled, and looked into Deborah's eyes, and she was fixed in place as he launched into one of those long winded, perfectly competent and confident speeches that occasionally nestled under the surface of his stumbling, "I really love you, a-and I, I don't know much about marriage, because from what I've seen, i-it seems like there's not much really there, to be honest – b-but that's not what I want with you. I…I want everything with you, I-I-I want to do everything that life has to offer, b-but I want to be able to look around and know that you're _right there_…I just know that I want to marry you, a-and I don't know how that will be different to how we are now, b-but I know that it _will_ be different, a-and I want that sort of different."

At first Deborah couldn't think of what to say; all that she could think about was how everything that wasn't Martin and herself seemed to fall silent and fade into a hazy blur, and all that mattered was the heated raging in her chest, that trembled like a moth resting on the strings of a violin. She had been married before, but she had never loved them, never trusted _anyone_, as much as she did Martin.

"Yes, yes I will." Deborah uttered after moments of silence, her breath coming out far more unsteadily than she had anticipated; letting out another short laugh, she turned Martin's hand over in hers, so that his ring was visible to the both of them, "Marry you, I mean…I will marry you."

"Good." Martin chuckled nervously, but he was smiling and, if Deborah wasn't mistaken, crying just a little bit, as he lifted her hand in his shaking ones, and slipped the ring, at least three sizes too big, designed for a fully grown man, onto her finger; Deborah watched his face instead of their hands, and couldn't help but smile as his eyes widened and he grimaced, nose scrunching "I mean, thank you – no, not thank you. I love you."

"I love you too." Deborah sighed, curling her fingers around his before Martin could withdraw them; then, taking the chance while she still could, she tipped forwards, lifting her free hand to trace her fingers over his cheek, and pressed her lips to his, almost toppling into the kiss.

Martin didn't let her pull away, but pushed back, his hand slipping to her hair, and Deborah didn't have the energy or the desire to pull away. They might have stayed like that for hours, falling in and out of each other, unaware of what was going on around them…Deborah didn't care…this was perfect.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed that. I'm not too sure about how well it flows, but it was nice to imagine.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Arg - I'm sorry, it's been well over a week and it took me three times as long as normal to write this chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Getting to the airfield at all had been a struggle, and a hard fought one at that; Martin had always been insistent that they be on time, and always maintained that philosophy, but on Monday morning, it was Deborah that had had to drag him from bed and force herself not to let him drag her back. They had barely left the flat at all over the weekend, but that was acceptable, and more than alright; nothing in the world could dampen Deborah's spirits, not now that she had gotten over the initial surprise and fully immersed herself in the beautiful, wonderful reality in which she and Martin were engaged.

They were getting married. Just like that, it was as if their lives had become cocooned in a cloud of pure light, a warm reminder during every moment of peace when they happened to be in separate rooms that for every pitfall in their lives, they had something wonderful that would _always_ be there.

So…bed, and romantic, if shoddy, dinners, and then more time in bed; Martin's arms curled around Deborah's waist as she made tea of remembered that she needed to wash the dishes, and Deborah reaching around Martin's chest in bed, pressing kisses to his neck while he answered the phone and promptly dismissed whoever was calling him with a few sharp but bright words.

This time, it was going to be permanent, Deborah was determined; this time, it was going to be better. Martin wasn't just a man that fit the bill; he was the love of her life, and she would willingly spend every day of her life with him, even if all they ever did was fight…they would do it together.

As they walked around the porta-cabin, arm in arm, side by side, Martin peeked in through the greasy window checking who was in; the only way that Deborah had managed to coax him from the flat, and into his uniform that morning was to remind him that they had to announce their engagement to their friends. To say that Martin was excited would have been an understatement; Deborah had never seen him so happy, or content, and so at ease with his position in the world. There had been no griping about how they would pay for their life together, or moaning that he wasn't good enough…for once, Deborah was certain that Martin was as happy as she was.

"Oh, look!" Martin exclaimed as he peered through the window, leaning away from Deborah to stand on his toes; his cheerful smile grow just a tad brighter, as if the world were falling into place, "Herc's here too – that's great, we can tell everyone together."

"Fantastic." Deborah muttered, rolling her eyes and tugging Martin away from the window so that they could continue on their way to the door; even Herc's presence couldn't dampen her mood, and she supposed…he was part of the 'family' now, in a way, so she just had to suck up her disdain for him and allow Martin to have his happiness, "I'll let you do the honours, darling."

"Are you sure?" Martin asked, stumbling to a halt as they reached the door, his hand falling onto the handle, but no pushing; his cheeks were flushed in anticipation, and his free hand clenched and unclenched where it was curled around Deborah's, but he blinked down at her as if she had offered him the holy grail and the position of Chief Pilot for every airline in Europe, "We could do it together, you know; that might be nice."

"Hmmm, I'm sure it would be." Deborah drawled, smirking at the confused furrowing of Martin's brow; making the most of his bewilderment, she bridged the gap between them and pressed her lips to his, giving a quick kiss to placate him before standing back and lifting her hands to trace the v-shaped arrangement at the lapels of his uniform, smoothing the shoulder stripes and straightening his tie, "However, I think that there's a point at which nice becomes horrifically soppy and cheesy. You have control, Captain; I'll just stand there and look gorgeous."

"Of course you will." Martin hummed in response, his voice lowering as he responded eagerly, slipping his hands around hers to halt her fiddling and kiss her again, more vigorously, pressing their lips deliciously together; Deborah let out a laugh and pushed him lightly away, and Martin was still chuckling as she pushed the door open, forcing it past the catch and jamming with her shoulder, calling out to the rest of the crew already within, "Morning all!"

"Hi Skip!" Arthur chirped, waving from where he was perched on the edge of the sofa, presumably watching Carolyn and Herc as they conversed over the conjoined desks, Carolyn in Deborah's seat, Herc in Arthur's wheelie one; when she had pulled the door closed behind them, Deborah moved further into the room, slipping her arm through Martin's where he had his thumb hooked into his pocket, "Hi, Deborah!"

"Oh, hello." Herc spun his seat around so that his back was to Carolyn, and gave them both a winning smile; it might have been welcome had it not looked as if he were genuinely pleased and relieved to see them, which was completely inexcusable in Deborah's mind, "It's good to see you again."

"You're two hours late." Carolyn snapped, cutting of the beginnings of Martin's open mouthed response; the grim frown on her lips and the steely stubbornness in her eyes as she sat tautly behind Deborah's desk made it clear that however Deborah and Martin were feeling, _she_ was in a foul mood, "Martin, I assumed that the whole point of you living together was for you to get Deborah here on time."

"Sorry, Carolyn, I, uh…" Martin's joy must have been too thick a veil to pierce through, as he blushed and stammered, and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, shuffling his feet and turning into Deborah's side, knocking their elbows together and ducking his head down to meet her gaze, "w-we um, we got a bit distracted."

"Yes, we're dreadfully sorry." Deborah interjected, unable to keep the warmth of a smile from washing over her lips and filling her chest with affection; she gave Martin's hand a squeeze, noting as she had over the past two days how wonderful simple things were, like the sensation of his hand, bony but strong, and forced herself to tear her eyes from his, "After all, the three of you do seem _very_ busy discussing what I assume must be trade secrets, or today's flight plan."

"Sadly no." Carolyn retorted curtly, laying her hands flat upon the top of the desk and sparing Deborah a cursory glare that had been chipped at over the years until it was personally tailored; it occurred to Deborah that perhaps now wasn't the best time to be announcing their engagement, "That happens to be your job."

"But they are discussing leaving the three of us in charge again." Arthur piped up, earning himself an exasperated groan from his mother; he seemed to be in a good mood, as always, and thrilled by the idea, as he helpfully addressed Deborah and Martin, "That way Mum and Herc can go on another romantic holiday."

"We're not discussing that." Carolyn snapped, glaring between Arthur and Deborah as if they were somehow responsible for Herc's insistence upon actually spending time with her; now definitely wasn't the time to be announcing anything, "And it wouldn't be a romantic holiday-"

"It _would_ be a romantic holiday, because these next few weeks will be the first break I've had from Swiss Air in over a year." Herc argued, swinging his chair back around so that Carolyn would have no choice but to face his decidedness; nevertheless, he didn't refrain from dragging them into the debate, "I've been trying to tell Carolyn that all three of you are perfectly competent adults, and that she can heartlessly abandon you for a week without worrying."

"How _lovely_." Deborah remarked, reluctantly agreeing with Herc despite her better judgement; it was supposed to be a good day, and Martin's hand was clenching irritably against hers as his smile began to fade into a petulant frown as he huffed at being ignored, so she needed to restore the peace, "Of course, Martin and I would be happy to run MJN while you're gone; Arthur knows his way around the custodial side of things, so there's really no reason for you to put off such a wonderful and heartfelt week just for our sake."

"That's what _I _said." Arthur exclaimed, throwing his hand out towards Deborah as if to impress upon Carolyn the strength of his argument purely by having someone else agree with him, "I said, 'Deborah knows how to deal with the passengers, and Skip knows how to do all the things on the computer, and I know how to clean and book the catering and hotels'-"

"The last time I left you alone you wasted over a thousand litres of fuel flying around and around in circles." Carolyn sighed and shook her head, placing the tips of her fingers over her eyes; anyone would think that spending time with her 'man-that-she-knew' was a burden, and not the opportunity that she could be seen visibly pining for when he wasn't around, "It's not big things I'm worried about; it's little stupid ones that cost me thousands of pounds."

"We've learnt our lessons." Deborah assured her, giving Martin's arm a shake to prompt him into doing the same; she doubted that Carolyn was truly worried about _them_, and even though she was detracting from their happy announcement…Deborah did care enough to want her to be happy herself.

"I-I-I won't do that again, I promise." Martin added hastily, biting down on his bottom lip as he pouted at the memory and adjusted the angle of his hat atop his head; he might have even bristled at the reminder of one of his many flounders as Captain, "I make sure to pay attention when I'm talking to the grounds crew now."

"Most of the time." Deborah murmured into his shoulder, as she leaned into his side and embraced the flutter of affection that rippled through her lungs; maybe it would cheer him up if he were teased just a tad.

"_All _of the time!" Martin gave an indignant squawk, flushed a darker shade of scarlet as he nudged Deborah away from his shoulder, only to groan and give her a tight-lipped smile when he saw the mirth in her eyes as she smirked up at him; even if it hadn't cheered _him_ up, Deborah rather liked the way he flapped at the implication.

"As charming a debate as this is, it isn't what I wanted to discuss." Herc declared, raising his hands into the air and holding his expression as calm and measured as was possible as he looked between them; his will was indomitable as always, and he wouldn't just let the matter lie, "Carolyn, you've heard it from all three of them now-"

"This discussion is over-" Carolyn snapped, and with that she reached across the desk to take a folder from the top of Martin's organised pile, holding it up to examine; Deborah didn't know what it was, but she was certain that it was nothing that would ever interest Carolyn, nor any human being other than Martin, who made a dejected little noise and lurched forwards as if to protect his work.

"No it's not." Herc replied, just as stubbornly; just like that, it was one of those conversations that Deborah didn't want to listen in to, and she began to feel a bit redundant, standing in the middle of the room holding onto Martin imperceptibly more tightly than she had meant to.

"Then you will have to follow me onto GERTI, because we are flying to Montreal in half an hour." Carolyn informed him, dropping Martin's folder unceremoniously onto the desk and tenting her hands, as if this were an ultimatum that might actually work; then, wiping the self-satisfied smirk from her face, she turned her glare back onto Deborah and Martin, and made wafting motions in their direction, "Pilots, flight-plan filed and plane started – go!"

Deborah sighed and squeezed Martin's hand, rubbing her other hand up and down his arm; there would be no happy announcement for now, but that she could accept that, as disheartening as it was. They had time…all the time in the world to tell everyone…

"Alright then, I _will_ follow you onto GERTI, because I am determined to find out why you're being so stubborn." Herc replied, shifting in his chair as if he were about to surge to his feet; Deborah really hoped that he was bluffing, as a flight with Herc on it was never enjoyable, "It's been months since I last saw you, but I seem to be the only one that's pleased about that."

"It's not that I'm not pleased-" Carolyn began to insist, but she wasn't allowed to finish; it seemed that Deborah wasn't the only one to realise that this was the sort of debate that didn't have a natural end.

"Um, actually, Deborah and I-" Martin interrupted her, stepping forwards, puffing his chest out as if he were seizing his Captainly right to speech and attention; he tugged on Deborah's hand, in an attempt to drag her into the spotlight with him, but she stayed but, sensing the apathy bubbling beneath Carolyn's surface.

"I thought I just told you to go!" Carolyn didn't shout, but she might as well have done for all that her irritation shone through, "Or did that particular demand slip into oblivion?"

"You did, b-but we…" Martin insisted, as always, scowling and shaking his head, clicking his heels together as he stood as tall as he could and glanced back as Deborah as if seeking her help; he had been so excited to be telling them about their engagement, she could only frown sympathetically and pull on his hand.

"It's alright, Martin, it can wait." Deborah promised, rising onto her toes so that she could murmur with her lips next to his ear; then she leant back and raised her voice, taking a step back to lead him towards the door, "Carolyn, feel free to continue arguing in our absence."

"It's not alright!" Martin insisted, his eyebrows knitting as he blinked down at her; of course the stubborn man wouldn't just let it go, not once he had made the plan in his head and had the opportunity waved right in front of his nose. He was like a terrier.

"It's fine, darling." Deborah told him, a little louder and more sternly this time, giving his arm a sharp pull to impress upon him the pointlessness of remaining in the middle of Carolyn and Herc's argument; she glanced towards the sofa and jerked her head towards the door, "Come on, Arthur; you can help me do the walk around."

"Brilliant." Arthur replied, and barely a fraction of a second passed before he had bounded from the sofa to stand at Deborah's other side; if anything, he sounded relieved at the chance to leave the porta-cabin, the novelty of being allowed to run the company fading beside his mother's distemper.

"Oh, fine!" Martin hissed through gritted teeth, scowling petulantly; he tore his hand from Deborah's and marched towards his desk, ignoring the stern glare that Carolyn fixed upon him as he hoisted his folders into his arms, snatching up a stack of pens from his pot, "I'll do the bloody flight-plan, and we'll just get on with our jobs, and pretend that we didn't want to talk to everyone, but that's _fine…"_

"You're dismissed!" Carolyn scolded him, waving him away from the desk while Herc leaned out of his way, allowing Martin better access to his stationary, most of which Deborah was sure that he didn't actually need for the time being.

"Come on, darling." Deborah urged him, sighing with exasperation, to accompany her as she made her way back to the door and pulled it open, letting in the faint breeze that curled around her ankles; she knew that he was upset, after all he had been looking forward to sharing their happiness with everyone, but life was full of disappointments, and this was only a small one.

"Yes, _dear!"_ Martin almost hissed, crooking his arms around his folders and turning to storm back to her side; he gave his cargo a clumsy shake as he marched past her and out into the cold air, muttering furiously to himself the whole while, "Coming…coming – see, all the paperwork, ready to fill out and deliver to Karl."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the one that was just as disappointed as Martin was at the dampening of what had previously been a cloud of pure joy, misting the corners of her eyes and lifting her spirits into the sky itself, Deborah let Arthur leave the porta-cabin before her, stole one last glance at Carolyn, who was already sniping at Herc, and then closed the door behind her.

Martin had wandered a few feet away, but he must have remembered that he was meant to be sharing this time with his new fiancé, because he was leaning against the side of the porta-cabin, looking sheepish with his lips pursed, waiting with Arthur at his side for Deborah to join them.

"So what did you want to talk to all of us about?" Arthur asked, once Deborah had smiled and given Martin's shoulder a squeeze and a kiss, and both men had fallen into step either side of her; he hooked his thumbs into his pockets and lumbered in an almost crab-like fashion so that he could see both of their faces, blinking curiously between them.

"Nothing…it doesn't matter now." Martin grumbled, hunching over somewhat as he walked in an attempt to keep a hold on the folders that he had grabbed in his fit of pique; he met Deborah's gaze, and frowned dejectedly, "We'll sort that out later."

"Oh, okay." Arthur nodded in acceptance, but as always, he couldn't let the matter go once his suspicions had taken root; how else could he be helpful, if not by following every trail that he could, "It's just that when you came in, you both looked really happy. But now, you're…well, you're quite grumpy, so I thought that it might have been important, and that you're upset you didn't get to tell us."

"That'd very astute of you." Deborah remarked as brightly as she could, plastering on a smile just for him; at least they had Arthur's attention, even if Carolyn couldn't take ten minutes out of her day to listen to what they had to say.

"I _am_ very astute." Arthur replied, grinning to himself and tucking his hands together behind his back, puffing out, so obviously pleased with himself; it was enough to make Deborah's smile settled a tad more comfortably on her lips, and alleviate the unpleasant prickling at her throat.

"Is that so?" Deborah inquired playfully, scoffing when Arthur nodded dutifully, tipping his nose into the air; then, like being struck with a particularly intriguing bolt of lightning, one that filled her lungs with the same devious warmth that came at the heels of a juicy scheme, an idea pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, and Deborah spared no time in gently prodding an elbow into Martin's side, "Martin…now that I think about it, if anyone deserves to be the first to know…don't you think it would be Arthur?"

"First to know what?" Arthur asked, stumbling to a halt under GERTI's wing moments after Martin did the same, turning to Deborah with wide eyes; if he had been a dog, it would have been possible to see his ears pricking with fascination.

"I suppose…" Martin conceded, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrowed, and he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth; he gazed searchingly into Deborah's eyes, and it was possible to see the cogs turning, and a slither of his hope from before flickering back into life in his countenance, "We do get on better with him than we do with Carolyn or Herc."

"That would be because Arthur is our closest friend." Deborah agreed, smirking as the flush eased from Martin's cheeks, and was replaced by a charming pink blush, as his expression lightened, and the tension in his shoulders eased; perhaps they would get to announce their good news…to someone who would actually appreciate it, and demonstrate the joy that they were meant to.

"I am?" Arthur exclaimed from over Deborah's shoulder; in an ideal world, his voice would have been glowing with the light of a thousand suns, and shimmering bright enough that it illuminated the individual specks of dust that crossed its path, "Aw, that's brilliant; you're my closest friends too."

"See?" Deborah gestured towards Arthur, seizing upon the rush of warmth to her chest and channelling it into her expression, as she beamed at Martin; it hadn't occurred to her before that she might have been as excited as he was to have other people know about their engagement, just to make it more real, to prove to the world that they worked, "Tell you what, Martin; I've got an idea of how we can break the news to everyone else, but you can do your little presentation or whatever it was you'd thought up now, for Arthur."

"Alright…" Martin breathed, then choked, clearing his throat, his eyes darting manically over Deborah's face; he seemed to lean in towards her, so she raised her hands to cover his where they still grasped his folders, and he snapped out of it, making a shrill noise in the pit of his throat as he looked over her shoulder to address Arthur, "Arthur, Deborah and I have something important to tell you…something really, really amazing actually, I-I-I, w-we um…oh god…I-I-I…"

"Are you alright Skip?" Arthur inquired; Deborah turned just in time to see his nose scrunch in concern, and to feel Martin crouching down to drop his folders on the ground, knocking her back before his hands found purchase on her shoulders, "It's just, you look really happy, but you sound like someone's died."

"Would you like me to take over?" Deborah murmured into Martin's hand, as she tipped her head to the side to press her lips to the back of his knuckles, reaching up to slide her palm over the other; again, like the to and fro of the tide, the giddy thrill that had been racing through her veins over the weekend, and expelled all dreary thoughts, was back tenfold.

"No, I can do this - I just need to not cry with happiness." Martin stammered, his voice turning wet and clammy, while his hands shook on Deborah's shoulders, which only tugged at the strings in her heart and made her want to drop her eyes and beam; he sucked it up though, puffing out his chest and pulling Deborah imperceptibly closer, "Yesterday, Arthur, I-I-I asked Deborah, i-i-if she wanted to, t-to marry me-"

"That's brilliant!" Arthur's face split into the widest grin that Deborah had ever seen, the visual epitome of joy that she felt incapable of displaying herself, even as a silent laugh escaped her lips, and she gripped Martin's arms as she felt them drop and circle her waist; he lurched forwards to wrap his arms around both of them at the same time, but stumbled backwards, almost vibrating with cheer when he realised that that wasn't working.

"The next bit's even more brilliant." Deborah informed him; it would have been nice to have everyone gathered together, but she had to admit, as she felt Martin's cheek against her own, that this, with just Arthur there to be genuinely pleased for them, was perfect. And now it was real…it was actually happening.

"Oh!" Arthur's eyes widened even further, and his hands flew up to cover his mouth, then hang in the air as he bore down on Deborah, "Did you…did you say yes? You had to say yes."

"I said yes." Deborah answered as calmly as she could, maintaining her composure even as her fingers dug into the backs of Martin's wrists; it wouldn't do to dissolve into the wonderful dizziness of happiness that she had been swept away by over the weekend, not in public.

"She said yes!" Martin squeaked, a shrill sound that managed to encompass every word that he had whispered to her over the past two days, every murmur in her ear, against her skin, every tear filled exclamation of his happiness, every moment that he had spent holding her close as he was doing now, embracing her so that the warmth of his shuddering chest melded with the curve of her back, every single slip and soft press of lips and grasping gasping connection…the steadfast, confident, unfaltering certainty of Martin's declaration made Deborah fall in love all over again, like toppling into a well cushioned with the sweetest water in the world, "We're getting married! Can you-I-I-I can barely even believe it."

"Aw, wow!" Arthur clapped his hands together and rocked on his heels, but Deborah barely heard him, or saw him, over the gentle yet suffocating rush of affection that blew all but _Martin_ from her mind, making her wish that she could melt back into him, "That's brilliant! This is the most brilliant thing that's ever happened at MJN, _ever!"_

"For once Arthur, I have to agree with you." Deborah sighed contentedly, letting Martin brush her hair back over her shoulders so that he could lean unimpeded against her; Arthur wasn't always wrong, and when he was right…he hit the mark dead centre.

"So you're going to be married?" Arthur continued to interrogate them, and for once, Deborah had no problem at all listening to his spouting of words, as every one glistened, "Like a proper married couple, with a wedding, and rings, and living together, and all of that?"

"Yes!" Martin replied proudly, in the same tone of voice that he used when someone recognised that he was in fact the captain of the aircraft, and not the cabin boy; incidentally, that hadn't happened for quite a while, something that Deborah assumed was due to a recent burst in confidence and self-assurance.

"That's brilliant!" Arthur seemed incapable of saying much else, tottering as he was on the brink of throwing his arms around the two of them and tackling them to the ground; this was what they had wanted…someone to be as happy as they were, to make it clear that getting married was the right thing to be doing.

"Yes, yes it is!" Martin agreed, nodding jerkily, his arms winding and flexing around her waist; he stammered a bit, but he managed to still, somehow, and let Deborah lean and then step from his grasp, so that he could look her in the eyes, "How…you know what, Debs? I actually feel like I'd have no problem telling everyone else now."

"The lowest hurdle's always the hardest with you, isn't it?" Deborah purred, unable to put any heat behind it; only the indomitable tide of fondness could penetrate her giddy mood, allowing her to raise her hand to stroke her fingers against Martin's cheek, smirking as she remarked, "Besides, I've come up with a _fun_ way to tell everyone, seeing as they have better things to be doing."

oOoOoOo

Herc and Carolyn were miraculously _still_ bickering in the Cabin, twenty minutes after boarding the plane; they couldn't hear them anymore, but Deborah could imagine that if they were in the flight-deck, they would drown out the humming and whirring (and today clicking) of the engines and control panel as GERTI warmed up for flight.

That didn't matter though; she was having fun. Martin was grinning, smirking that wicked and handsome curl of his lips that made his cheeks light up and his eyes glint deliciously, just as he always did when he gave in and made himself implicit in her plans, as he flicked the last few switches and stole adoring glances at Deborah from across the gap between them.

Arthur was perched on the edge of the jump-seat, and although Deborah wasn't sure that he knew what they were up to, he looked suitably intrigued, winding his hands together and looking between the two of them. If he had been oddly quiet since they had entered the plane, then he was probably just giving them the peace that they needed.

Shooting Martin one last smirk that lingered on her lips, Deborah reached across to grasp his hand where it curled around the yoke, and then released him, and leant forwards to flick on the intercom; the familiar crackle filled the air, and Arthur seemed to inhale sharply and hold his breath while Martin sniggered and covered his mouth with his fist.

"Hello, and welcome to this cargo flight from Fitton to Montreal." Deborah drawled into the intercom; she imagined Carolyn looking up at the ceiling and rolling her eyes, which only spurred her on, "I'm sure that as this is a _cargo_ flight, and not a _passenger_ flight, that there's no need for flight times or altitudes or speeds, or anything like that, so I'm going to hand you over to the Captain now for the introductions."

"This is your Captain speaking; Captain Martin Crieff." Martin stepped in seamlessly, slipping his hand onto the intercom just as she moved hers away; he used the playful tone of voice that usually came after hours of games, and couldn't seem to keep the smile from his face, as he gasped in deep and shuddering breaths, "Piloting the plane with me today is First Officer Deborah Richardson…who-has-kindly-agreed-to-be-my-wife. That's all from me; enjoy the flight."

The intercom clicked off, and Martin fell back into his seat just as Deborah did the same; one look was all that it took for her to descend into giggles, as Martin's low and shivering chuckles rolled from his chest. She dropped her head down, grazing her eyes over her knees, before flopping back against her seat, arms hanging lazily over the edge as she blinked slowly across at Martin, who was doing the same, meeting her gaze with such a lingered, clinging heat that she couldn't tear her eyes from his.

"That was brilliant!" Arthur informed them; Deborah glanced over her shoulder, shifting so that she could see his face, as it occurred to her that for someone who was normally very talkative, 'brilliant' was one of the few things that Arthur had said since they had been outside, "Oh, I can hear them coming now."

"Well done Martin." Deborah attested, casting away any thoughts on the matter for the sake of smiling at her husband to be, and teasing him; the natural order of things was the best place to be, "Very smooth."

"I don't care." Martin remarked, shaking his head and pursing his lips; his voice was lower than was probably acceptable in a work environment, but there was no time to think about that, as he leant across the seats and tipped his chin down, drawing Deborah into a light kiss, "I love you."

"I love you too." Deborah replied warmly, taking the lapel of his jacket between her fingers and pulling him back for another kiss; this was the sort of lovely thing that she had to look forwards to, the press of his chapped lips against hers every day for the rest of her life, and yet she still couldn't get over the novelty of it.

They were forced to break apart when the flight-deck door clanged open; they turned their heads, to see Carolyn standing in the doorway with Herc at her shoulder, neither of them moving into the flight-deck completely. Carolyn's eyes were narrowed, and she peered between the two of them, over the top of the jump-seat.

"What was that?" Carolyn demanded wanly, pointing into the air as if she were gesturing to some unknown and disembodied voice in the sky; for once, she sounded as if she had been left speechless.

"Oh, did you not hear it?" Deborah inquired sweetly, batting her eyelashes and making a show of checking the intercom switch and waggling it to see if it was still functional; Martin batter her hand away from it, but she carried on nonetheless, "I thought that the intercom was the only part of GERTI never to break."

"We heard it perfectly." Herc replied, still attempting to peer over Carolyn's shoulder; if anything, he actually sounded surprised, which was a victory to be remembered with pride, "Is it true?"

"Yes!" Martin squealed with pride, his cheeks a charming shade of red beneath his freckles as he grinned and swivelled in his seat, keeping one hand hovering over the controls; he was fit to burst with excitement, and Deborah feared that he might actually start tearing up again, "We're engaged, and we're getting married, and, a-a-a-and-"

"We're getting married." Deborah cut in smoothly, speaking as cool and calmly as was possible given the way that Martin was looking at her as if she had bestowed upon him the greatest gift known to mankind; she lowered her gaze so as not to receive the full blast of light that he was radiating.

"Yes, that's, that's what I was- what I meant." Martin amended his previous stammering, and grimaced apologetically over his shoulder; he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, knocking his hat out of alignment, though he didn't appear to notice, "We're getting married."

"Well, congratulations." Herc exulted, still doing his best to be seen at all; there wasn't a shred of smarm in his tone at all, "I'm sure that you'll be very happy together."

"Thank you, Herc." Deborah replied, making an effort not to cringe at the idea of being polite to him, against all odds; all she had wanted, after all, was for a little congratulations and for someone to be pleased for them, "You're being awfully quiet Carolyn; did we push you into some sort of stroke?"

"You wish." Carolyn scoffed, and just like that she was back to her old self, flattening her jacket and lightly touching her hair; she stepped inside the flight-deck just far enough that Herc could move to her side and actually see the happy couple, "So you're…? Well, I suppose I'm…pleased for you. Well done."

"Well done?" Martin repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion; he looked to Herc, but was wisely provided no answer to his silent question.

"Thank you." Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes and settling back in her seat, so that she could rest her cheek on the padding and watch the rest of the crew with minimal effort; there would be no time to simply enjoy their company when they were in flight…even joy couldn't distract Martin from the importance of professional focus.

"Yes, um, thank…you, what…what she said." Martin stuttered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed awkwardly, eyes darting over everything from his knees to the window; he held his head a little higher though, as if he were balancing a lemon on the tip of his nose, "I guess it is well done, isn't it?"

"So have you made any plans yet?" Herc asked, when it seemed that Carolyn wasn't saying anything more, instead staring between them as if they were mad, and Arthur remained oddly silent; his steadfast continuation of 'proper' responses and behaviour, though completely welcome, forced Deborah to ignore the itching desire to dislike him for it, as irrational dislike as it may have been. Nobody was supposed to be that relentlessly polite.

"Well, there _are_ a few things that we talked over; aren't there, Martin?" Deborah hinted, stealing a glance at Arthur from the corner of her eye, as he was still watching, hands clasped together, in silence; this would cheer him up…and possibly lift Martin past the buoyed heights of happiness into the stratosphere of irrevocable joy.

"Oh, yes; I almost forgot." Martin shook his head as if he were inwardly scolding himself, and turned to lean over the back of his seat, hooking his arm around and over so that he could address the other man directly; his attempt at hiding the promise in his voice was redundant, but Arthur was as oblivious as always, "Arthur?"

"Yeah, Skip?" Arthur chirped, blinking wide-eyed up at him as if he had been off in a world of his own; Deborah didn't want to imagine what kind of odd world that might have been, and was content to watch, a smile creeping onto her lips, as her two favourite men jittered with excitement.

"Do you…" Martin trailed off, and took a deep breath, stealing a glance at Deborah as if steeling himself and drawing some sort of confidence from the smile on her face; then he bit down on his bottom lip, raised his hand to press down on his hat, and spoke as if he were delivering the speech for a Nobel peace prize, "I was just wondering, if you, i-if you wanted to be my best man?"

"Do I!?" Arthur exclaimed, and with that he surged to his feet, clapping his hands together; Deborah thought that he was going to throw his arms around Martin, but he held himself back, and simply beamed at him, and at Deborah, rocking on his heels as if he couldn't contain his excitement, "Of course I'll be your best man!"

"You realise that it's a lot of responsibility?" Martin clarified far more seriously, settling back down into his seat; Deborah knew that Martin had very strict plans in his head as to how their wedding was going to go, so much so that she might as well sit back with her feet up.

"Do _you_ realise _how much_ responsibility it is?" Carolyn interrupted the no doubt vehement answer that Arthur opened his mouth to provide, and fixed Martin with an arched eyebrow and a demonstrative glint in her eyes. Martin opened and closed his mouth a few times, which only seemed to prove the point that she was so unsubtly making.

"Of course he does." Deborah informed her curtly, although she was sure that this unwarranted concern was only Carolyn's obscure way of saying that she hoped everything went well; there was no need, she had faith in Arthur, even if no one else did, "And we both know that Arthur is capable of fulfilling the role to his very best capabilities."

"Aw, thanks Deborah." Arthur reached across to give her shoulder a squeeze, and he might have actually choked up in the fraction of a second that it took for determination to pinch his features, "I won't disappoint you; either of you."

"Right, well…" Martin coughed, and then cleared his throat, and turned his back on the rest of the crew so that he was facing forwards, tugging on the rim of his hat; it was odd, but somehow seeing Martin become so emotional drained any of the same overwhelming fluster from Deborah's chest, and allowed her to sigh affectionately and simply enjoy the wondrous pleasure of _existing _in a world where there was a reason to be so happy, "We're taking off now, so you all need to get out of my flight-deck and sit down."

"_Your_ flight-deck?" Carolyn retorted, but she wasn't allowed to linger as Herc nodded to Arthur, and between them, they began to usher her away from the flight-deck; she went with a huff, storming ahead of them, Arthur in her wake, neither of them offering a goodbye.

"We'll leave you alone." Herc informed the two of them as he remained in the doorway, hands on the frame, for a moment longer; somehow, he managed to make it sound as if it were a great service, until he reasserted some sense of sincerity, and deliberately met Deborah's gaze, "Congratulations; I really am, _very_ happy for you."

There was no time to reply, or even really process the uncomfortable blend of gratitude and disdain that touched the pit of Deborah's throat, as the flight-deck door clanged shut and she was left alone with Martin; perfect, of course, that they should be given their space to gaze lovingly at one another…or to run through her mind the various strings that should hopefully knit into one item in her mind to help her navigate the cacophony of feelings that their friends' reactions had instilled.

It didn't matter what anyone though…but Deborah couldn't help herself from pushing her hand through her hair and exhaling slowly, relieved that everything was okay, and yet…now that it wasn't just a secret, now that she and Martin were engaged before the world and not just inside the sanctity of their home…it was like the glittering fog through which she had been perceiving the world had sharpened into pointed edges, grounding her…but not in an unpleasant way.

It was only after a few minutes, after which Deborah realised that Martin hadn't said a word, that she turned her head and found that his eyes were fixed on her face, and that he was gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip, while his fingers rapped on the arm of his seat; it was comforting to know that she wasn't the only one experiencing the stuttering reality before them, and Martin must have felt it too, as a manic smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"So that's it…" Martin gasped, his chest heaving as he visibly tried to maintain some sense of Captain-worthy composure; it was beautiful, knowing that she had played a part in making that expression light up his face, giving him that jittering fidgeting that only came with complete and utter exultation, "People know…it's official."

"Could you possibly sound happier about that?" Deborah teased, curling her hand through the air and brushing the back of her fingers against his cheek, lightly tapping his smile; Martin leaned away, but chuckled, flying higher than he had ever done on GERTI.

"Maybe, but I don't think I'll be fit to fly if I get much happier." Martin almost chirped, rolling his shoulders back and taking Deborah's hand before she could retract it, placing a clumsy kiss on the back of her knuckles; he snorted as she tugged her hand away, and ignored her for the sake of reaching out to press down the sat-com, "Tower, this is Golf Tango India, requesting permission to take off."

"_Sure, Martin, whatever you like." _Karl's voice filtered through the sat-com and rattled around the cluttered shell of the flight-deck; he sounded bored, as always, _"It's not like I have anyone else to talk to; you two go ahead and leave me."_

"That's not really standard phrasing now, is it?" Martin sighed, rolling his eyes at Deborah as if she would share in his despair; she just shrugged her shoulders, smirking at how easily he was distracted. Oh yes, years of this…she didn't think she had looked forwards to anything quite this much.

"_Of course not." _Karl groaned, reverting back to a state of professionalism and lazily dismissing them; it occurred to Deborah that it would be a shame not to let _everyone _know their good news, just to see Martin smile some more, and to feel the charming warmth that it sent shivering through her lungs, _"Golf Tango India, feel free to make your way to the run way."_

"Although, before we go," Deborah interjected before Martin could respond as was protocol; she leant across the control panel, batting Martin's hand out of the way so that she could press down the speaker's button, "the Captain would like to break all of his phraseology rules and give you a little piece of good news to get you through the day."

"Oh, yes!" Martin exclaimed, flapping excitedly and leaning forwards as if to speak directly into the control panel; apparently his stammering and nerves had faded now that he had received the approval of not only Arthur, but Carolyn and Herc as well, "Deborah and I are getting married!"

"_Really?" _Karl's reaction was sudden and barked out as if he were trying to stop himself from laughing hysterically; Martin grinned proudly, but Deborah couldn't help but purse her lips and sit back, narrowing her eyes at the flashing light that she had come to associate with their ATC man, _"God, well done mate! How'd you manage that?"_

"What are you implying?" Deborah inquired, folding her arms over her chest; it wasn't _that_ unbelievable, not considering how long she and Martin had been a couple. She didn't know whether or not she should have been insulted by the hilarity in Karl's tone.

"_Nothing at all Deborah, nothing at all." _Karl laughed properly this time, making no effort to hide it; perhaps revealing their engagement hadn't been such a good idea after all, _"God blimey though – well done Martin! The lads are going to have a whale of a time with that - I never knew you had it in you."_

oOoOoOo

Early the next morning, fresh back from Montreal, Deborah found herself curled with her knees up to her chest on one end of the sofa while Arthur slouched on the other end, her computer on his lap. Martin was somewhere on the airfield, though she couldn't imagine where; the last time she had seen him, he had been flocked by the friendlier members of the grounds crew, all of which clapped Deborah on the back before surrounding Martin much like tourists would a UFO, as if trying to work out what was going on.

So, as she had nothing else to do, and because a whole weekend in bed didn't seem quite enough in terms of an engagement present, Deborah had dug out her log-book from where she had last hidden it, and began filling it out from where the first blank appeared around five months beforehand. Arthur was still being unusually quiet, so it was actually rather peaceful, listening to the unsteady tapping of his fingers on the keys.

Or, at least Deborah _had_ been doing her log-book; then she had got distracted by a fleeting fancy, and now she was flicking her wrist and testing the new rhythms, repeating the same motions over and over again. She was so engrossed in the motion that she only realised that Carolyn had swept into the room when she heard the door cracking shut, catching on the bent latch.

"What are you two doing in here?" Carolyn asked, only slightly sounding as if she actually cared; she wandered over to the sofa, her arms folded loosely at her front, so that she could peer over both of their laps so that she could spy on what they were doing, "And why isn't Martin here? I was under the impression that he lived here."

"Martin's talking to Dirk and George." Deborah replied distractedly, dropping her eyes back to the previously blank pages at the back of her log-book and sweeping readjusting her hold on her pen, tugging her knee up more securely so that she could use it as a support, "Apparently he's now part of the 'boys group', and if there's one thing Martin likes: it's positive attention."

"I give it two days before he starts hiding in here again." Carolyn scoffed, as she continued to loom over the two of them, pretending not to be nosy when in fact that was all that she was; she was easy to ignore.

"So are you going on holiday with Herc or not?" Deborah asked, taking only a fraction of a second to smile wanly at the dig at Martin, before changing the subject abruptly; sadly, she had to admit that she hoped that Carolyn went with Herc, if only because an unhappy Carolyn meant a dreary MJN for everyone.

"I am accompanying him on a trip." Carolyn admitted tartly; she hooked her hands together behind her back and feigned nonchalance, "It only makes sense; if I'm going to spend time with him, then better to do so without the three of you nagging me as well."

"We'll be good while you're gone." Deborah assured her, glancing up fleetingly so that she could offer an encouraging grimace before returning to her task; Martin would try to keep them in line, so Deborah would make sure to behave within reason, "I promise."

"Hmmm." Carolyn hummed, obviously unconvinced; she continued to hover though, as if she couldn't quite decide what to do with herself, and settled for narrowing her eyes at Arthur, who had somehow managed to stay quiet and on task throughout the entirety of their conversation, "What are you doing with Deborah's laptop?"

"I'm googling how to be a best man." Arthur answered, looking up from the computer and smiling, though it seemed strained and thin lipped, as if he needed to convince himself that he was having fun, "I know it's early, but I need to know how to do it properly, before I mess anything up."

"You won't mess anything up." Deborah retorted, lowering her log-book down so that it lay open on her knees, all the better for addressing Arthur properly; she ran her eyes over his face, and held his gaze, oddly uncomfortable with something in his demeanour that was so imperceptible that she couldn't even put her finger on it, "Everything's going to be fine…nothing's going to be strict; we're just going to enjoy it, whatever happens."

"Each to their own; I suppose." Carolyn sniffed flippantly, shaking her head and allowing Arthur the moment of distraction that he needed to drop his gaze and restart his clattering clicking on his end of the sofa; while Deborah watched him, brow knitting in confusion, Carolyn peered at the book in her lap, "What are you…Deborah…have you become some sort of teenage girl?"

"No!" Deborah retorted defensively, hastily pulling her log-book against her chest; she pursed her lips and sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as she realised that there was no chance that Carolyn hadn't seen the page filled with her name…or what her name would be, "I'm…I was doing my log book, and then I realised that I'm going to have to change my signature…so I'm practicing."

"You're not taking his name?" Carolyn demanded, sounding truly aghast; her hand hovered over her chest, and her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open as if she were horrified by the very idea. If she hadn't been so insulted by the implication that she didn't quite understand, Deborah might have found the sight amusing.

"Why shouldn't I?" Deborah inquired curtly, tucking her log-book just that little bit closer to her chest, as if to defend Martin's honour by protecting her over-eager signatures; she didn't hear it quite so often in recent years, but even now, the sound of anyone but her making fun of Martin, as if he wasn't good enough, as if he didn't deserve Deborah's love, and most definitely deserved that 'well done' that everyone was bestowing upon him…it hurt.

Maybe this was the epitome of true love? Perhaps…but whatever it was, Deborah couldn't help but swallow the pang of sour distaste that nestled in her throat whenever anyone insulted him…Martin wasn't perfect, but damn it, he was _hers_.

"You're not seriously telling me you want to be Deborah _Crieff_?" Carolyn scoffed, reaching down as if to take the log-book from Deborah's hands, to see those very words scribbled elegantly over and over again; it was held away from her, but as she stood back, she was smirking, and some of her normal shark-like essence had returned.

That didn't matter though. Deborah must have reinvented herself at least three times, but this, with Martin, wasn't a reinvention, it was a reversion to _herself_ without any acting, so she was willing to open up a whole new chapter, even if leaving her messes behind meant abandoning the one thing that she had clung to for years, a point of pride…no longer… Just being Deborah Richardson wasn't enough anymore; it no longer won any respect, and if she was honest…Deborah was too tired to care. It was time to retire and be happy and just enjoy being someone that Martin Crieff had fallen in love with, made the most important thing in his life, more important than flying, flaws and all.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Deborah spoke far more proudly than she felt, more of a mess of indignant insult; she folded her legs underneath herself and quirked her eyebrows, "You can't talk; you smooshed yours and Gordon's names together like some sort of grim fruit salad."

"That is irrelevant." Carolyn replied, sniffing pointedly as if to impress upon her just what she thought of the matter, "You didn't take your last husband's name; you've _always _been Deborah Richardson."

"And now I'm going to be Deborah Crieff." Deborah concluded; the she was struck by the need to carry on, to justify herself, "It's…it's nice, it'll…give it a sense of permanence…I love Martin, and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. It suggests unity, and love, and if we have children, then I want the whole family to have the same name-"

"Please stop; this is torturous." Carolyn begged, throwing her hands into the air and squeezing her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head; she turned and walked away from the sofa, giving the desks a sweeping glance, "I can't say I like it, but fine; I will get used to it."

"Martin won't." Deborah remarked, smirking as she relished the sadism that flashed across her mind; Martin could be an annoying and pedantic pest, but when unleashed upon the rest of the world…well, it was one of the reasons she loved him so much, "Prepare yourself for months, maybe even _years_ of him boasting about the fact that I changed my name."

"God help us." Carolyn muttered, groaning at the very idea; then, validating Deborah's suspicion that she was simply wandering around and trying to find something to do with herself, she strode towards the door, "I'll leave you to it."

With that Carolyn was gone, letting the door slam behind her; the quiet left in her wake wasn't quiet as peaceful now that Deborah had been dragged from her trance, and carelessly scribbling the words 'Deborah Crieff' seemed a little less entertaining. By now, Arthur should have been chatting and saying something ridiculous, but instead he was tapping idly away at her laptop, eyes flickering up and down the screen as if he were rapt with attention.

"Are you alright Arthur?" Deborah inquired, when the peace became unbearable; Arthur looked up immediately, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, and Deborah took the chance to drop her log-book over the edge of the sofa and shuffle closer over the cushions, tucking her legs up until her knees would brush his elbow should he move too jerkily, and she could rest one arm over the back of the sofa, "You've been awfully quiet today…well, mostly quiet."

"I'm fine." Arthur assured her far too quickly; his fingers curled around the edge of the laptop, and strangely…Deborah wasn't entirely sure that he was lying…he was red faced, but he wasn't tipping over or losing breath…it was odd…"I've just been thinking about how happy I am for you, and for Martin. It's great that you and Skip are getting married; I always knew that you should, because you're perfect together."

"Thank you." Deborah replied softly; remembering why she was asking at all, she tried again, peering suspiciously at his face in an attempt to riddle out the lines that weren't quite there yet, "Are you sure that you're okay?"

"Yeah…" Arthur sighed, nodding morosely; he smiled thinly and then turned his gaze back to the laptop, which was enough to prove that he was indeed lying, albeit rather well all things considered, and rather pointlessly.

"Alight, close that." Deborah instructed, and that was all the warning that Arthur was given before she reached between them and closed the lid of her computer, taking it from his hands and placing on the cushions behind her; then she fixed Arthur with her most sincere stare, letting her features soften, "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, I promise." Arthur insisted weakly, shaking his head all the while; his resolve lasted only seconds though, as with nothing to distract him, he began to pick idly at the rumpled material at his knees, "I'm really happy for you. It's just that…you and Martin are together, and Mum's got Herc, and I…I have a lot of free time now that used to be filled up with you guys and I…I just have a lot of time now to think."

"What you mean is that you're lonely." Deborah remarked slowly, letting that idea dawn on her; in the midst of everything that was going on between her and Martin, it hadn't occurred to her that perhaps Arthur wasn't happy…he always _looked_ happy, or so she had thought, "Oh, _Arthur…"_

"No, it's not lonely." Arthur hastily assured her, raising his palms into the air and lowering them towards her, as if to impress upon her the importance of what he was saying; Deborah only just believed him, as the light in his eyes seemed honest, and in truth, it wasn't as if he had been spending any less time with them than usual, "If I were lonely, I'd go and talk to the grounds crew, or Karl, or someone."

"Then what is it?" Deborah asked, actually able to feel the pinched expression on her face as she tried to riddle out what was wrong; she cared about him, but she had to admit, she tended to simply accept that Arthur was alright and leave him to his own devices when the world was running smoothly. Maybe he was just feeling his thirties lumbering on after the uptake…but that didn't seem right at all.

"I don't know." Arthur shrugged his shoulders and gave her a wan smile, shifting so that the cushions dipped and he was turned more definitively towards Deborah; it made their conversation feel somewhat more private, "I think I'm just a bit down because I haven't had a girlfriend in a really long time, and all of this reminds me. I'm not upset, because it's brilliant, but…yeah…"

"I'm sure you'll find someone soon." Deborah suggested, adopting some of that boundless optimism that Arthur was normally so famous for; she didn't doubt it for a moment, not when he was really a truly lovely human being…a lot of people may not have understood that, but someone would, "What are you looking for in a woman? I might know someone."

"I'm not really looking for anything." Arthur replied honestly, and as helpfully as always; his shoulders seemed to sag a little, and he ran a hand through his hair, "I just want someone that I can be friends with, you know; not like the pony club girls – they're nice, but…they're not like Lily was, because she was actually my friend, as well as my girlfriend."

Of course…Deborah remembered Lily, for the short time that she had been around. She also remembered how upset Arthur had been when he had let her go to Italy to start a new life, but also…how mature he had been; she hadn't been able to understand at the time, why Arthur had been so determined that the right thing to do was to let Lily go and be happy without him…it was only when Martin had taken his temporary leave at Swiss Air that Deborah had realised that perhaps Arthur was far more of an adult that anyone gave him credit for.

If possible, Arthur might have been the biggest man that she had ever met…and she didn't think even he knew it. He was one of those sublime beings that deserved all the best of the world.

"That does tend to be the best way to go." Deborah sighed, settling more comfortably into the sofa; she let her hand flop down to give his elbow a companionable squeeze, and tried to instil in herself a tad more optimism in the hope that it would left Arthur out of his dreary slump, "Anything more specific? Things in common perhaps?"

"It doesn't even need to be things that we have in common." Arthur explained; it became apparent by the way that his eyes bored into Deborah's that now that he was talking, he would keep talking until the matter had come to its natural conclusion, like a dam being broken and draining itself, "One thing I liked about Lily was that even though I knew nothing about the art or the books that she liked, she would tell me about them, and I liked learning new things from her. You know; someone I can look after and enjoy being with."

"Right, I think I understand." Deborah remarked, hooking her hands together as if to begin scheming; there was no point in scheming though, and she gave up before the cogs in her mind even began whirring, letting her cheek loll down onto her shoulder, "You want someone to be in love with."

"Yeah." Arthur sighed, blinking sadly down at his knees; there was nothing that could really be done about that, as much as Deborah would have liked to help, and it seemed that Arthur understood that as well.

"It'll happen one day." Deborah promised, but her voice sounded as empty as it felt as it forced itself past her lips; she let her eyes trace across his face, taking in the set of his limbs and the droop of his posture.

It occurred to her, like a subtle dawning, cloud cover slowly unveiling damp streams of light, that she hadn't been looking this closely for years; it had been well over a decade, but Deborah hadn't noticed the young man in his early twenties, more of a boy than anything, turning into a proper adult…and now here he was, and she didn't know what to do about it. Everything was changing, mostly for the best…and sometimes…there was always hope.

"Maybe." Arthur responded wanly, pouting as he picked more hardily at the folds at his knee.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Deborah demanded, thwacking his hand away from his knee so that he would look her in the eye again; Arthur was allowed to grow up, but he damn well wasn't allowed to adopt the same depressing template of mind that everyone else did, "I'm sure you'll find someone; you just need to look, and be patient."

"Maybe I'm just not…" Arthur trailed off, and pressed his lips together as if he were actually frustrated; his eyes darted away from Deborah's face, and his chest heaved as he exhaled, as if he were forcing from himself some sort of horrible fact of life, "It's fine, if I'm not, but…maybe I'm just not made for that. Because, I'm not…I know I'm how I am, and that's okay…I might not be good at all of that…adult stuff, like getting married and…and all the other bits…I'd like to be though."

"What do you mean by…how you are?" Deborah asked, holding her breath as she swept her hair away from her eyes; she never really followed Arthur's train of thought, but this was particularly worrying.

"Well, you know…" Arthur shrugged flippantly, plastering on the most unconvincing smile that he had ever produced; even his promise that he didn't really care about Christmas had been more convincing that this, and Deborah shook her head, as she didn't know _at all_, "The way that I am and things that I do…I'm a clot."

"Oh, god…" Deborah closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand over her lids, biting down on her lip to try and swallow the lump of pure guilt that formed in the base of her throat; everything was so _good_ nowadays that she had forgotten how…caustic she had been just a few years ago, "That's something I said, isn't it?"

"Maybe once…or twice." Arthur admitted, and he reached between them to place a comforting hand on her knee, just as Deborah opened her eyes again; his complete lack of disdain only made her feel worse.

"Arthur, you listen to me very carefully." Deborah ordered him, grasping his hand in hers and forcing him to look at her as she spoke, even though he attempted to drop his gaze; the wash of self-hatred that flooded her chest was nothing compared to the flare of protectiveness that roared in her guts, "There is nothing wrong with you. I probably won't say this again…but you are perfect, exactly how you are. I know that nobody's perfect…but you're about as close as anyone can get. You'll be fine."

She shouldn't have had to say that, Deborah knew very well; there should never be any reason to reassure one's friends that they were actually worth a damn.

"What if I'm really not good at all of that?" Arthur asked, his hand gripping hers back with as his eyes glistened slightly; she must have been getting through to him, but that only meant that now he was expecting her to hold some sort of answer, "I mean, the only relationships that I've got to work from are Mum's, which have been awful, and yours, which is great, but I'm not like you and Skip."

"The first thing you need to do Arthur, is to stop comparing yourself to other people." Deborah instructed him, severely, taking a deep breath to stop herself from ending it there; she suspected that she had played a large part in whatever was going wrong in Arthur's self-perception, and that couldn't be allowed to go on, not when her own life was going so well, "Stop trying to have 'a relationship', and just wait for someone to come along who compliments _you_."

"You mean, says nice things about me?" Arthur's eyebrows knitted in the centre of his brow, and his lips pursed in confusion; he was entirely serious, and that was enough to shatter the thick air that had leapt up between them.

Deborah scoffed faintly, dropping his hand and slumping until her back hit the back of the sofa, and they were once again sitting side by side; some things never changed.

"No…I mean, in the way that Martin and I may not seem as if we'd fit, and yet from the first moment that we met, even though we could barely stand to be in the same room…something clicked." Deborah explained wryly, unable to keep her lips from curling upwards at the memories that drifted through her mind; _god_, they had had some _vicious_ fights, but she wouldn't erase those if she had the chance, "I'm happier since I met him, and I…well I like to think that I've helped raise him up into a more palatable and successful human being."

"Yeah, you have done that." Arthur laughed stiltedly; he pushed the back of his hand under his nose, and sighed again, one time too many, "I guess…I might have to wait a long time though."

"Believe me, Arthur." Deborah promised, taking care to meet his gaze and abandon any sense of humour or sarcasm that she might have otherwise relied upon, "When it happens, you'll be glad that the previous attempts failed."

oOoOoOo

"We need to write up a list." Martin announced as he dropped unceremoniously onto the sofa; he was wielding a pad of paper and a pen as he hooked his legs and Deborah's, and swung an arm around her shoulders, "A proper one this time, so that we know exactly what we need."

"God, do we have to?" Deborah groaned, but she cuddled into Martin's side regardless, tucking her arms around his middle and resting her cheek on his shoulder so that she could see the paper where he wafted it around through the air; after a long day of teetering between utter joy and nervous worry, she'd have given the world to just lie down with him and go to sleep, knowing that he'd be there, wrapped around her when she woke.

"Yes," Martin replied tartly, biting down on the end of his pen; it was sweet though, his jittery excitement for their impending marriage, "because if we don't plan properly, then our wedding will be a disaster."

"Honestly Martin, I'd be happy in jeans and a jumper, lined up at the registrar's office." Deborah murmured; reaching out to tip the paper down, she realised that Martin had already been scribbling neat notes here and there.

"I know, and so would I." Martin admitted, tipping his chin down to better meet her eye; he said it with the same tone of voice that he used when economising, or working over their bills, "But I want memories, and a proper day that we can look back on…I want to be able to show our children pictures from the day."

"Alright then." Deborah conceded, sighing with deliberate candour; he had this ability, one that she had recently become very familiar with, to make the simplest things sound like a fairy-tale, created wonderfully magical images in her head, "You've won me over…apart from the best man, what else do we need to plan?"

"I've already got the necessities noted down, and categorised based on the nature of each item." Martin recited eagerly, fidgeting and making the sofa dip and roll underneath them; he pointed at his list, bringing the pad of paper underneath her nose, "Firstly location and time: a date, a church-"

"You want a church wedding?" Deborah repeated, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head back; that was…they hadn't discussed that, or anything of that nature before…it seemed that there was a lot left to learn about each other.

"Don't you?" Martin asked, pouting ever so slightly as he lowered his lists; it was obvious that despite his claiming not to really mind, Martin had already come up with some specific ideas as to what he wanted. It was quite nice having a fiancé that actually gave a damn as to what was going on.

"I've never had a church wedding." Deborah remarked thoughtfully; it had never seemed like something important before, so eager had she been to just settle down…Martin wanted an event though, and that was a rather nice idea, "I'd like that actually."

"Good, so…" Martin nodded slowly and whistled through his teeth, and when he was sure that Deborah wasn't going to interrupt again, continued reeling off his plans, "A date, a church, transport to and from the church, and a location for the reception."

"That sounds reasonable." Deborah remarked lazily, settling back down against the warm rumbling of Martin's side; if she closed her eyes, it might even be quite hypnotic, which was something that she had been experimenting with over the past few months without Martin's knowledge.

"I thought so." Martin replied proudly, and efficiently, humming as he struck a tick next to his notes, "Secondly, people and things related to people: guests – they're easy, just invite them and they'll turn up – _us_ – including clothes and rings- the wedding party – so Arthur, and whatever bridesmaids that you want – and…that's it for people, for now."

"Again, reasonable." Deborah noted, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes, letting the darkness soothe the whirring in her head; now all that she had to concentrate on was the pleasant contrast between the softness of Martin's jumper and the stiffness of his shirt beneath the skin of her hands, "I suppose that having them written down means that it'll be difficult to forget anything."

"See, now you're beginning to understand." Martin exulted, his voice sounding beside Deborah's ear, "Thirdly, there's all the more fiddly bits: decorations for the church, and vows, and all of that, and arranging things for the reception, like food and music, and-"

"I understand, Martin." Deborah grumbled, and she forced herself to open her eyes and face the harshness of their dull lamps for the sake of reaching up, taking Martin's chin in the tips of her fingers, and fixing his eyes withers, "But, as we have neither a date nor a location, we don't have to worry about any of this for a little while."

"I know, I do – I just want the day to be perfect." Martin insisted, giving his paper and pen a little shake, clipping their knees with the edge of them, "I know that the ceremony's not really important, but I want to be able to look back on the best day of my life, and know that we had as much fun as we could, a-and I want to be able to look back on it-"

"I know." Deborah murmured; with the hand not holding his chin, she took from Martin his paper and pen, and hurled them onto the coffee table, listening for the thud as they hit the floor on the opposite side, "I love you. Now hush."

"I don't want to hush." Martin muttered, peering down at her through narrowed blue eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced after his hard work; nevertheless, his eyes wandered back to Deborah's face, "Why am I hushing?"

"Because I want a kiss, and I can't do that while you're talking." Deborah replied matter-of-factly, pursing her lips; she was pleased when Martin let out a little 'oh', and smiled as if he were grateful, forgetting for a while the practical matters involved in planning a wedding.

* * *

**I'm not pleased with the flow of this, or the fact that two scenes take place on the sofa. But, on the other hand, it's really long, and I can't bring myself to redo it.**

**I hope you enjoyed it. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, hello. Here's the next chapter.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Looking back, Deborah decided that she should have known that Martin would never agree to go out for a celebratory dinner with his family unless the purpose of that dinner was to show off. Not that she minded showing off; she was a veritable champion of the sport. There was something dearly exasperating though about standing in the porch of a restaurant while Martin fussed and tugged at his third best suit, unable to settle after decreeing Deborah's simple dress and cardigan far more perfect than anything he could achieve.

"Oh, god, they're here already." Martin bemoaned as he peered through the wide glass window at the front of the restaurant, to where his mother and siblings were already sitting around their reserved table; he was grimacing as his hands flew over every crease in his suit, and dragged through his hair as if he were reaching for a hat that wasn't there, making his cheeks flushed red with frustration, "How do I look? D-do I look alright? I don't do I? I look a mess; I knew I shouldn't have put my coat on."

"Martin, you look very handsome." Deborah assured him fondly, bridging the gap between them to extend her arms and take the lapels of his jacket between her fingers, straightening it and then smoothing them down with the palms of her hands, stroking back over his shoulders for good measure when he lowered his hands and they formed a warm weight at her elbows; his family was a touchy subject, so there was no harm in indulging his neuroses for a while, "I wouldn't have let you leave the house if you didn't."

"But my jacket's all rumpled and my tie's not straight." Martin insisted, pouting imploringly down at her as he stepped back and tried to adjust the tie that was wrapped tightly enough around his neck that if he tugged at it any longer he might strangle himself.

"Come here." Deborah instructed, ushering him back towards her; head hanging, Martin allowed Deborah to loosen his tie and set about knotting it properly, which his eyes followed the movements of her hands in the few inches of space that were left between them, "They're your family. They care more about the fact that you're getting married than what you're wearing."

"I bet Simon's dressed up _really_ specially for this." Martin muttered; his eyes flickered back towards the window, stubborn as always. No matter what happened in their lives, there would be nothing that could shatter Martin's almost visceral reaction to his brother…at least he didn't react like this on the flight-deck any more.

"And it won't even matter." Deborah sighed, tilting her head back imperceptibly so that she could meet his eyes without stepping away; her hands slipped from the v-shaped cut of his jacket up to his shoulders, where she could squeeze gently, "For once, Martin, you're going to be the centre of attention. You most _definitely_ will be if you don't stop fussing, because I'll have gone home; I'm not dealing with your family alone while you fret."

"Right, I'm sorry; you're right." Martin conceded, nodding swiftly and reaching up to take Deborah's hands in his; for a fraction of a second she thought that the matter was resolved, but then his expression shifted, and he was hissing conspiratorially, "Simon's not married. Caitlin is, but _he's_ not."

"Well done, darling, you win." Deborah remarked wryly, stepping back, slipping out of Martin's grasp, and raising her hands in surrender; any other day she might have teased him, but she understood, and was willing to be patient for the sake of not embarrassing him in front of his brother, "Now, is that all out of your system?"

"Yes." Martin nodded, standing a little taller and clipping his heels together, as he did when showing wealthy customers aboard GERTI; he inhaled sharply, and just like that he was the fidgety, prim captain aboard his imaginary aircraft.

"Good." Deborah announced, pressing her palms together; if she was honest, the idea of spending the evening with Martin's family was nerve-wracking, but if it meant that making their own family was more peaceful, then she could endure the odd stares that she would no doubt receive after the last time that they had all gathered together, "Shall we descend into the pit?"

"Don't say things like that." Martin snapped, his voice turning throaty and shrill; nevertheless, he shuffled to Deborah's side and took her hand, gripping tightly as she began leading him into the restaurant, pushing the glass door open and releasing the delicate bubble of polite murmuring, "You're making me more worried than I already am."

Neither of them spoke as they walked slowly through the restaurant, only nodding to the passing waiter as they navigated the tables that could have been arranged like the sprinkling of sequins on a sheet. Martin's mother spotted them before they reached the group, Martin lagging just far enough behind Deborah that their arms formed a loose chain pulled taut between them.

"Martin!" Wendy exclaimed, rising from her seat at the sight of her son, managing to make her voice heard over the atmospheric clattering of cutlery that seemed to resonate in establishments such as this; she threw her arms out, and Deborah released his hand so that she could step aside and allow them room, "There you are."

"See, I said he'd be along in a minute." Caitlin piped in from where she remained seated, her arms folded as she nodded towards Martin's still awkwardly shuffling form; her long ginger hair was tied back, and she was dressed in a formal dress and jacket that might have been more fitting at an office party, "He's never been late for anything in his life."

"Hello Cat." Martin muttered, shooting his sister a sideways glance as he stepped into his mother's arms, wrapping his own around her shoulders and patting stiltedly at her back; she was a short woman, and her paling hair had obviously been carefully arranged, so he was left trying to hold his arms at right angles to avoid squashing her, "Hello Mum, how are you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, Martin. Don't you look _handsome."_ Wendy cooed, standing back and sighing as she ran her eyes over his suit and watched him blush; then she turned away from him and held her hands out to Deborah, treating her to a welcoming smile,_ "_And Deborah! You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Wendy." Deborah replied courteously, allowing herself to be pulled into a brief hug; for the sake of the evening, she would be nothing but polite, and make the best impression that she was capable of.

"Oh, you both look so wonderful together." Wendy tittered over the, ushering Deborah and Martin back to each other's sides as she lifted Deborah's hand and fluttered her eyes over the ring on her finger; then she turned to where her oldest son was sitting, "Simon, look at them both; aren't they just perfect?"

"What?" Simon grumbled, jolting as if he hadn't been paying attention; just like Caitlin he was dressed as if he had come straight from a council meeting, and if Deborah wasn't mistaken, he eyed Martin as if he were still smarting from their last encounter, "Yes, of course, they are. Well done, Martin; you've done well for yourself."

"I have, haven't I?" Martin preened, shuddering into stillness as a proud smile appeared on his face; Deborah felt his hand slip around her back, so she took that as her cue to take the lead and take a seat, making sure to appear as if she were paying particular attention to Martin as he sat at her side and continued talking, "It's not every day that people get engaged to their best friend."

"Although I'm sure there are thousands of people willing to argue their case." Deborah drawled, curling her hand around Martin's the moment that he laid it down beside his neatly placed cutlery, taking a well-practiced glance at each member of his family in turn before fixing her gaze on his; she knew how to maintain an intimate façade while masterfully engage the rest of the group.

"Theirs aren't as good though." Martin murmured, lowering his voice and leaning in until it could be imagined that they held a modicum of privacy; they didn't, but it _could_ be imagined with the mind of someone as self-possessed as Martin.

"I agree entirely." Deborah remarked, lilting her tone and widening her eyes just enough that if she were talking to someone with any sense of tact, they would have remembered that there were other people around who might not appreciate his opinion, "However I'm not sure there's any real way to quantify the value of a couple's love for each other."

"Ours is better." Martin insisted, smirking without a care; it was charming how proud he was, but Deborah was beginning to realise that she needed to find some way to curb his pride, other than digging her nails into the flesh of his knuckles, or in an extreme circumstance, delivering a sharp kick to his shin.

"Well, hold on." Caitlin interjected, sitting a little straighter as she glared at Martin from across the table; Wendy and Simon just looked between the two of them, as if used to altercations between brother and sister, "I'm married."

"I know you are." Martin replied matter-of-factly, almost smugly; for all of his fretting, he was making very little effort where getting along was concerned, "Where _is_ Keith?"

"He's working the night shift." Caitlin retorted curtly, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for a confrontation; from what Deborah could remember, she was even more stubborn than Martin was, "What are you implying?"

"He's not implying anything." Deborah interjected before Martin could do more than open his mouth; she even leaned ever so slightly across him in the hope that Caitlin would be distracted by losing him from her direct line of sight, "I think your brother's just _overwhelmed_ with excitement…with good cause, I assure you."

"Aren't you that colleague that Martin brought with him that time Mum was ill?" Simon asked without any preamble; it became clear then that he _had _been narrowing his eyes and trying to remember where they had met before, rather than simply holding his tongue, "His First Officer?"

"Yes I am." Deborah replied smoothly, nodding and shifting her arm fractionally to the side, so that it was pressed up against Martin's; he responded by rippling his knuckles against her wrist, and blinking down at her, as if he were awaiting her reaction before he stepped in to help, "Now I'm his fiancé, and soon I'll be his wife."

"But still my First Officer." Martin interjected hastily; of course he couldn't let that slide…but it was his moment today, he deserved it.

"Quite." Deborah replied, pursing her lips and holding her expression as best as she could; it was true, her stomach was turning as it occurred to her that she was at risk of either insulting or being insulted, but she couldn't help but feel indignant on her fiancé's behalf, "I'm glad that I made such an impression."

"So does that mean that you were together at the time?" Simon inquired thickly, exhaling into his moustache as he peered between she and Martin; in all fairness, Deborah thought that he seemed genuinely bewildered, however insulting that might have been, "I'm sure I would have remembered if you and old Martin were an item."

"No, we weren't together then." Deborah acknowledged, swallowing the lump in her throat that felt oddly reminiscent of a barrage of sharp words ready to dislodge and fly into the air; as she hooked her hand around Martin's, she surreptitiously propped her other elbow up on the table and curled the loose waves of her hair around her fingers. All the better for appearing confident but confrontational if needs be.

"But you were before." Wendy cut in, smiling generously at Deborah as if to say 'I've got this dear, no need to worry'; it was nice to know that someone was on their side, "I remember Martin telling us all about you before I was ill."

"So you were together, then you weren't, but now you are again?" Simon continued, turning his head from side to side as if Deborah and Martin might give him different answers; it wasn't hard to see how he and Martin were related, at times like this.

"Martin; didn't you go to Switzerland for a while?" Caitlin cut in, unabashed in her inquiry despite the faltering expression on their mother's face; it was then that Deborah began to worry that perhaps this dinner was going exactly the way that Martin had feared it might, with the rest of his family carrying on while he stumbled and floundered behind them.

"I did actually." Martin retorted tartly, his chest heaving ever so slightly as his hand clenched around Deborah's' he needed to deal with this himself though, and Deborah needed to keep her mouth shut so that she didn't alienate her future husband's siblings, "I got a job for Swiss Air. Thank you for noticing after all these _years_."

"But now you're in Fitton again?" Simon clarified, almost business-like in the way he sat forwards and analysed his brother, "Why'd you give up a job like that?"

"I came back for Deborah," Martin didn't quite squawk indignantly, but his cheeks did flush a darker shade of scarlet and his lips dropped into a pout as he stuck out his jaw, "which I-I'm glad I did, actually, because now we're getting married."

"And you were together when you were in Switzerland?" Caitlin added, narrowing her eyes at Martin and leaning forwards as well; it was as if he were being lined up in front of a jury and tried for some heinous crime. Honestly, they couldn't even give him one night to be pleased with himself – it was _his_ engagement after all.

"No!" Martin squeaked, looking desperately to Deborah before tumbling into one of his unstoppable avalanches of rambling and stuttering, "I mean – we were a couple, sort of, except we weren't together, not quite. B-b-but we were still in love, and, and I, it doesn't matter now, because we're good, and we've always been good, except for a few hitches-"

"So you broke up?" Simon's brow furrowed, as if he couldn't perceive such a turn of events; it was enough to make Martin huff at Deborah's side, the perfect warning that she needed to do something, quickly.

"There were a few hitches, as there are in any relationship." Deborah spoke calmly and clearly, taking care to hold Simon's gaze and impress upon him the silliness of such a line of inquiry; he was hardly the most intimidating person that she had had to talk down to, "But as Martin pointed out, we have _always_ been the best of friends, and will continue to love each other, regardless."

"Exactly." Martin chipped in, lowering his free hand to the table in a definitive motion, that were he anyone else would have meant the end of the discussion; as it was, the action came across as rather helpless, "We love each other."

"Well, yes, of course, there are hitches." Simon assented, nodding sagely as if he were an expert upon the matter, despite remaining pitifully single, "But if you broke up, then surely that means that there are _problems_; are you sure that you've smoothed them all out."

"Yes! Yes we have!" Martin snapped, ignoring the imploring look that his mother sent him; he was barely an inch away from imploding in on himself, giving Deborah's hand a little shake as if to demonstrate the tangible evidence of his words, "We've sorted all our problems, and we're absolutely fine, and it's none of your business."

"I'm only asking because I want both of you to be happy." Simon insisted, extending his hands towards Martin; to his credit, he did seem possessed by some sort of misguided concern, rather than the judgement that Martin was probably perceiving, "Are you sure that the issues that split you up in the first place aren't going to resurface?"

"Because-" Martin began to retort, but he wasn't allowed to finish; he would only have made things worse.

"Can I stop you there?" Deborah inquired politely, raising her free hand into the air in case anyone thought that that was an actual request, and not a demand, "As much as I…_admire_ your concern, Simon, I think that in this particular case, it's unnecessary. _All_ couples have _issues_, but that's not going to be a problem; you see, Martin and I know where our _issues_ lie, and we're _both_ willing to put in the effort and overcome them when they arise."

"That's not exactly a perfect marriage if you _know_ that you're going to fight-" Simon started, but Deborah wasn't hearing any of it; all of this doubt regarding her and Martin's relationship was beginning to get tiresome.

"I've tried to achieve _perfect_ before." Deborah interrupted what was sure to be a well thought out argument; she couldn't help the shadow of a bitter smirk that curled her lips, but the sudden stillness of her chest was thawed by the sensation of Martin's hand, warm and sweaty against hers, "It was hard work, and it never ended well. As it is, I'm rather pleased with my current lot in life."

"As am I." Martin agreed shortly; if he was allowed to argue with Simon for much longer, Deborah was afraid that he might start growling, "We're very happy, _without_ your concern."

"Oh, isn't that lovely." Wendy cooed, a little too loudly; she extended her hands out to both of her sons and glared pointedly at the both of them, nodding out across the restaurant, "Martin, dear, how about you and Simon go to that bar over there and pick some nice wine."

The implication was clear, and the order even more so, and yet Deborah seemed to be the only one to recognise the dismissal, as only Simon rose to his feet, and Martin stayed exactly where he was; both of them were blinking at her and shaking their heads as they fiddled with the open lines of their suits.

"Why can't Simon do that on his own?" Martin asked, wrinkling his nose as he watched his brother puff out his shoulders and stand far taller than Martin could ever hope to be.

"I think I can choose wine without help." Simon added, exuding pompousness from every angle as he lifted his voice to sound superior and knowledgeable, "I get the rounds in for the lads at the council; I reckon I know a thing or two."

"No, no; you all like different things." Wendy insisted, making wafting motions with her hands while her pleasant smile remained firmly fixed upon her lips; she managed to make a dismissal sound almost like a gift, or a really good idea, "Both of you should go."

"Go on Martin." Deborah murmured, leaning in so that she could almost whisper in his ear without taking her attention from the others that were sitting around the table; as a little extra push, she slipped her hand from his and placed it firmly down on the table, where she could pick at the frills on her napkin.

"But you don't-" Martin lowered his voice, his eyebrows knitting as he visibly tried to rationalise Deborah's request for him to go and choose alcohol.

"Of course, I'm driving, so I'll just have a glass of water." Deborah said pointedly, pursing her lips and nodding just a little _less_ subtly towards the bar; the last thing she wanted his brother knowing was that Martin was marrying an alcoholic, on top of everything else, "But you should go and help your brother."

"Oh, alright…" Martin nodded slowly, blinking in confusion as he pushed his chair back from the table, "I'll do that then."

As Martin reluctantly followed Simon away from the table, glancing over his shoulder like a puppy that had been abandoned, Caitlin took the opportunity to excuse herself and visit the toilets. It was a merciful relief, providing a moment of peace; it also meant that Deborah was now alone with Wendy, who spared no trouble in leaning across the table and addressing Deborah, as if she had been dying to do so from the moment she had sat down.

"I really am _so_ glad that you're joining the family." Wendy exclaimed softly, wringing her hands together as she gazed at Deborah; she might as well have saved Martin from a fire for all the gratitude that was radiating from the other woman, "You're absolutely lovely."

"Thank you." Deborah replied, plastering on a coy smile and settling back in her seat; such sincere flatter was still a novelty, no matter how much of it she received, and it only added to her relief that someone was happy to see that she and Martin were devoting their lives to each other, "I must say, I'm rather glad to be marrying your son."

"You have a daughter, don't you?" Wendy inquired, narrowing her eyes, brow furrowing much like Martin's did; all of a sudden Deborah realised that she was fishing for information, and paving the way for a conversation of a far more intense nature.

"Yes…Verity's twelve now." Deborah explained wanly, letting her eyes fall down to her fingers as she fiddled with the napkin; as much as she loved to talk about her daughter, being a single mother without custody was just one more thing that might turn Martin's family against her, "She's as excited as Martin is…although I think that has more to do with her being a bridesmaid than her mother being a bride."

"Children will be children." Wendy sighed, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders in the way that Deborah had seen thousands of parents do when talking about their children, but had never mastered herself; then Wendy lowered her voice and stole a glance at Martin and Simon's backs where they were still bickering at the bar, "That's why I wanted them out of the way; so that I could talk to you alone, and tell you how pleased I am."

"You said; and I'm grateful." Deborah smiled politely, pressing her lips into a thin line; there was only so much flattery that she could endure, after all.

"I mean it though. You're just what Martin needs." Wendy insisted, her pearl necklace jangling as she inhaled the long-held sigh of someone who hadn't quite become world weary; she frowned with sympathy, "He's had a tough time, and I know that maybe he doesn't feel as if his father and I paid him enough attention, but I think that you give him everything he's ever wanted."

"Hmmm." Deborah hummed her acknowledgement, not trusting herself to say anything appropriate to the situation; instead, she changed the subject, "Martin doesn't talk about his father...or anyone really…he's very…quiet when it comes to that sort of thing."

"That's alright." Wendy assured her, batting her hand through the air; she had probably spent years getting used to the idea, "Martin's always been so independent, and _headstrong, _and so determined that he was going to be a pilot that he never really needed any of us; he did it all on his own. That's what made Raymond – my late husband – that's what made him think that Martin was reliable enough to look after the van."

"Which he's still doing." Deborah remarked, just in case Wendy had forgotten; she was quite impressed by Martin's determination to carry on running Icarus, purely so that they had money to put into savings accounts for a rainy day, "Martin's started a whole business around it."

"Exactly; it's wonderful." Wendy agreed, nodding severely nonetheless, "But he's stubborn too…far too stubborn, and it makes him…"

"Socially inept?" Deborah suggested, smirking as she let her eyes wander across the room to where Martin was still arguing with Simon, his back straight, hands clenched, stubborn as always.

"Yes. That's why his father was so eager to train him up as an electrician; he was worried about him failing _again_, and then being left alone with no job and no friends and no way to earn any money." Wendy explained, grimacing sheepishly when Deborah looked back to her, "Then of course he went and had a heart attack four months before Martin got his pilot's licence…it was typical of the both of them. They were never on the same page. Raymond would have liked you though; he'd have been so proud that Martin found someone as good for him as you are."

"Not that I'm normally one to talk myself down…" Deborah cleared her throat, trying not to linger too long on the uncomfortable lump that had formed there, and carefully dragged the tips of her fingers through her hair before curling her arms around her chest, "but I think you might be overestimating how good for Martin I actually am."

"No, I'm not." Wendy let out a faint laugh and smiled warmly; her gaze was unassuming and hopeful, and impossible to deliberately shatter, "Martin he…he's always been so wrapped up in himself, and in being the best, and in flying and planes, that he just shuts out the rest of the world; I remember when he was a boy and he wouldn't care about going to other children's birthday parties because he wanted to stay at home and build his model planes."

"Yes…that sounds about right." Deborah muttered; she suspected that staying home alone might not have been entirely Martin's decision, not after seeing how eager he was to try and fit in with the grounds crew, "When I first met him all he'd ever talk about were correct procedures and how he was the captain."

"Exactly." Wendy exclaimed; she lay her palms down on the table and pursed her lips in the way that only mothers can, "It's all well and good Martin mooning over beautiful women and anyone who shows the slightest interest in aviation, but he needed someone who could be his _friend_, someone that could be _patient_ with him, and who he could laugh with."

"I like to think I do all of that." Deborah replied honestly; she wasn't sure whether the air in her lungs was simmering pleasantly or freezing, clenching at whichever shreds of self-doubt still existed in her psyche, "I won't pretend it didn't take a while, but I worked out how to navigate him in the end."

"That's why you're so perfect for him." Wendy insisted, nodding when Deborah narrowed her eyes and shook her head; it was easy to see where Martin inherited his refusal to give up, "My son has always had his head in the clouds, but from the moment he started working with you, he started talking about all this foreign countries that he was going to, and the people on the airfield, and _you_. He never stopped talking about _you_. All I'd hear, even when it was all complaints, was about things that you'd said and things that you'd done."

"_Really_?" Deborah drawled, smirking as she looked once again to Martin; they seemed to be almost done, bottles in their hands, but both men were still red faced, "I must say, that sounds like the perfect thing to remind him of next time we're alone."

"Oh, but this is what I mean. You play with him, instead of just dismissing him because he's a bit…well, _Martin_." Wendy beamed, as if Deborah had said the most wonderful thing; she'd be singing a different tune had she been on some of their flights, "All he's ever needed was for someone to drag him out of his bubble and into the world, and now that you've done that, I've never seen him happier. He really does love you."

"Thank you." Deborah couldn't think of what else to say; there were only so many ways to display modesty, and she wasn't too inclined towards pretending that she didn't think she and Martin were perfect for each other. It didn't matter though, as almost as if timed, Caitlin, Simon, and Martin all appeared, scraping their chairs across the floor.

"What are you talking about?" Martin inquired, making no effort at pretending that he wasn't being nosy; he was gripping a bottle of red wine as if it were the Holy Grail, wrapping his fingers around it while he kept one eye on Simon's movements.

"Ooh, you shouldn't ask them that, Martin." Simon tutted and shook his head, speaking in a particularly pompous tone as if making up for the lack of wine in his hands; he sat back and clicked his knuckles, smirking smarmily, "Women's talk's a sacred thing, not for our ears."

"But I want to know what they were talking about." Martin snapped, turning his attention back onto Deborah, blinking imploringly down at her; he must have honestly thought that batting his eyelashes at her worked.

"If you're good, I'll tell you later." Deborah promised, placing her hand over his wrist; she smiled coyly, and flickered a wink. Martin could pout all that he liked; now that she was sure she had his mother's approval, there was no reason that she couldn't get through this dinner with a smile on her face and no cares at all.

Perhaps she would tell him later; she had time to make up a clever lie if she changed her mind.

oOoOoOo

It was a bad day to come down with a head cold; Deborah would have rather been trailing around after Martin and Arthur than lounging around the flat with a bottle of elderflower water in the place of vodka, finding things to do. She was warm…that was a bonus, she supposed…at least the heaters worked, and the television gave off quite a lot of heat. Even so, Deborah was very, _very_ bored.

There was only so much enjoyment that one could take from putting their feet up on the sofa and watching re-runs of old crime dramas on ITV-3; Poirot was a dear, but like Arthur, his charm lasted only so long.

Deborah was just settling back into the cushions, letting her eyes fall closed and the lulling haze of the television wash her into a warm and soothing doze, when her fluffy bubble of melting psyche was pierced by the shrill ringing of the doorbell. For a moment she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that whoever it was would go away, but when another ring punched the air Deborah was forced to open her eyes, push the loose strands of hair from her face, and hoist herself to her feet and across the room.

The sight that she was welcomed with upon swinging the door open was as unwelcome as the gust of damp air that came with it; Deborah ignored the self-satisfied smile, the confident stance that hadn't changed in the twenty years that had padded out its owner's figure and greyed his brittle hair, and instead just closed her eyes, relishing one last moment of darkness.

"Hello, Debbie!" Archie announced himself, sounding just as smarmily pleased to see her as always; he couldn't have talked to her as if she were just as intelligent as him if he'd tried, "Can I come in?"

"I…suppose." Deborah sighed, opening her eyes and stepping aside to let her brother stride through into her front room as if he had been there a thousand times before; she waited until the door was closed, and her back against it, before she spoke again, too tired to be anything more than exhaustedly confused at his presence, "Archie, what are you doing here? The wedding's not for another fortnight."

"I know it's not." Archie replied matter-of-factly, while he turned on his heel to inspect the sitting room, his eyes falling lastly on the tattered old armchairs that were all pointing at the coffee table; Deborah noted how his voice sounded hoarser than the last time they had spoken, she suspected more from age than illness, "The invitation you sent me had a date on it, and I, being the loving brother that I am, wrote it in my diary. It's funny though; I could have sworn that close family were supposed to be informed about this kind of thing _before_ the invitations went out."

"I did inform you." Deborah retorted wanly; she didn't move away from the door, taking some dreary comfort from the solidity behind her back as she watched Archie move towards the chairs as if to lower himself into them, then stop and stand back, "I sent you a text."

"'_Hi Archie, getting married.'_ Is not the same as you calling to tell me that you're getting hitched again." Archie reprimanded her, folding his arms over his chest as he fixed her with a pointed glare from across the room; it was like being twelve years old again.

"Alright, fine; I'll concede that I probably should have let you know." Deborah admitted, raising her hands in surrender; she was too tired for this…she would have endured Martin and Arthur's incessant chatter if she had known that her brother was going to turn up out of the blue, "Now, what do you want?"

"I want to sit and talk to you." Archie informed her, managing as always to sound almost reasonable, as if he was in the right; the fact that he was in _her_ sitting room, pressing his hands together, didn't seem to occur to him at all, "And a cup of tea if you've got it."

"Fine…" Deborah sighed, giving in far more easily than she would have on any other day; she pressed the heel of one hand over her eyes before striding into the kitchen, heading straight for the kettle and reaching for a chipped mug. Perhaps if she let him talk then he would leave more quickly, giving her time to catch a few minutes sleep before Martin arrived home.

"Thank you very much." Archie replied; Deborah could hear his footsteps following her into the kitchen, followed by the scrape of a chair around the table.

"Well go on then." Deborah groaned, turning on her heel to lean against the counter while the kettle broiled and bubbled behind her; just as she'd thought, Archie was surveying her with the self-same superiority that he always had, "What did you come here to say?"

"I came to have a conversation with my sister and catch up with what's going on in her life." Archie retorted, going so far as to cock his eyebrows and purse his lips in judgement; he knew full well that they didn't talk to each other on a regular basis, and that had always worked very well, "Apart from that call to ask me to hire your airline, which I'm still doing by the way, I haven't heard a word from you. I don't even know who this Martin is."

"I'm sure I've mentioned Martin before." Deborah shook her head and narrowed her eyes, desperately trying to grasp the moment in which she had mentioned Martin recently; the kettle clicked, but she ignored it for the sake of meeting Archie's gaze and nodding as if that might improve her chances of rectifying the situation, "My captain…my best friend…I must have mentioned him before."

"Oh, he's your captain!" Archie exclaimed, sitting back and dropping his palms flat on the table as he nodded and rolled his eyes; it must have been a long time since they had properly spoken, "Yes, you mentioned _him_; I remember you telling me you wanted to throttle him over some landing…I suppose if nothing else, that _is_ more information than I ever got on the other two."

"Yes, well…I still want to throttle him every now and again." Deborah muttered, swallowing awkwardly as she rapped her fingers on the counter behind her; then she surged into action, pouring Archie's tea and placing it on the table so quickly that she was sitting in the chair opposite him, lacing her hands together, "Come on, Archie. I _know_ you didn't come here without a list of criticisms."

"Actually, I only had one thing that I needed to _tell_ you." Archie replied, failing to falter or show any kind of embarrassment at being caught out; he leaned forwards, propping his joined hands up on the table top as he looked severely into Deborah's eyes, "No more weddings. Three is my limit; after you marry this one, I'm never attending another one, so you better make this marriage work."

"That sounds fair." Deborah acknowledged, reflexively leaning back until her spine ached with the effort of staying upright against the hard wood of the chair; she would have given the world to have this conversation whilst slouching on the sofa, where it would be entirely acceptable to close her eyes and nod off, "It's not as if I expect you to be there; I'm not asking for anything."

"I know that you're not _asking_, but you're _getting_." Archie countered, his expression remaining hard and unabashed; then he smiled in a way that some people might have found charming, but that Deborah was sick of, "I actually came here because I want to give you a proper wedding send-off. You know…third time lucky, and all that nonsense."

"Archie, I don't need your help." Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed so that she didn't have to look at his unabashed confidence.

"It doesn't matter, Debbie, because I'm giving it whether you want it or not." Archie replied, brushing away her dismissal without a second thought; it was infuriating, and enough to stoke the fire in her belly and force her eyes open to glare at him from across the table.

"We've sorted everything out ourselves." Deborah snapped, then reigned herself in, inhaling sharply and pressing her lips tightly together; there was no point in getting angry, especially when she knew that Archie had a whole arsenal of things that he could throw at her in response, "Martin and I are in fact mature adults, and entirely capable of arranging our own wedding. I realise that it may be difficult for an _old_ man such as yourself to get to grips with my self-sufficiency-"

"Do you have a dress?" Archie inquired without any preamble; he quirked his eyebrows and smirked when Deborah could only glare at him.

"Not yet." Deborah replied curtly, folding her arms over her chest; even with Martin's prodding, she had been procrastinating, fretting inwardly despite how clichéd the matter was, unable to settle on a course of action for something that wasn't really all that important, "I haven't decided whether I'm having a white one, or just a normal dress…we don't want a fuss."

"Then I'm helping you choose your dress." Archie decided, smiling to himself as if the matter were solved; there was no doubt that he had decided he would be taking over before he had started his journey, "And paying for it; my treat."

"You're not paying for my dress." Deborah retorted, gritting her teeth so that she couldn't say anything more; she had accepted far too much from him in the past, and she wasn't about to owe him anymore favours.

"Who runs his own modelling company?" Archie asked, as one would a small child, lilting his tone just so; he carried on before Deborah could do much more than roll her eyes and pout, smirking like a cat that had got the cream, "And who has enough money to buy the best dress within fifty miles of Fitton?"

"Not me, that's for sure." Deborah noted, grimacing at the smug look on Archie's face; it was atrocious, and no matter how tired she was, she couldn't accept his offer just like that, "It doesn't need to be the best."

"So who is going to accept her brother's help, and let him buy her dress…as a wedding present?" Archie prodded her again; for all that he had aged, he still managed to blink across the table at her in the same old way that he always had, like a small child imploring their puppy to perform tricks.

The apathy that had been present for the first thirty years of her life had faded when they fell out of regular contact and it became apparent that Deborah could look after herself, but all that meant was that his vision was clouded by the image of her as an infant instead of the annoying child that he had become accustomed to.

"I don't think you've ever bought me a wedding present before." Deborah conceded, looking away from Archie's face so that she could stare instead at the edge of the table; Martin wouldn't like her accepting such large gifts, and neither did she…but they weren't the most well off couple, and it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of her brother's generosity when he was packaging it so harmlessly.

God, she was so tired that that actually seemed like a good idea.

"No, I didn't, because I didn't approve of the last two." Archie shrugged his shoulders but didn't let the matter drop; if anything, he sounded apologetic, even guilty for his past behaviour, "I don't know anything about your latest man, but…this is a nice flat, and you seem happy. There's no reason why I can't make up for my lack of previous support."

"Alright…you can buy the dress." Deborah sighed, bidding farewell to the last of her resolve; as a last act of rebellion, she curled her hand through the air and pressed the tips of her fingers over her brow, using the motion to try and soothe away the exhausted sting, "But you're not deciding what it looks like; I want to retain at least some modicum of autonomy."

"Debbie, I've seen the sorts of things you wear." Archie scoffed, taking a sip of his tea and appearing for once like the smug owner of a modelling company that he was; there would be no arguing with him from now, that was for sure, "Nobody who willingly dressed like a granddad in their thirties deserves any kind of autonomy." He paused, and then asked more sombrely, lowering his mug down onto the table and dropping his gaze, "I'm assuming Verity will be at the wedding?"

"Yes, she'll be there." Deborah answered, allowing a faint smile to alight on her lips as she thought of her daughter, beaming as she threw herself into Martin's arms at the announcement of their engagement; things would be better for all of them when Deborah could show off her own, perfectly functioning, family, "I think she's been writing a bridesmaid's speech, but Chris hasn't been able to get anything out of her."

"Good…I haven't seen her in a while." Archie murmured, peering down into his tea; it was hard though to be sympathetic for him missing his niece when Deborah was her _mother_ and still only got to see her on an extremely irregular basis, "I thought she might be a bit old now for me to be sneaking her biscuits, so I'm going to give her a twenty and pretend that you don't know."

"Only if you tell her she has to put half of it in her piggy bank." Deborah told him, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second as they shared a slither of understanding; that an odd light entered Archie's eyes didn't even raise her suspicions as it might normally, "I don't want her spending all of it on sweets."

"That's something else I wanted to talk about, actually." Archie announced abruptly, clearing his throat; this time however, he seemed almost uncomfortable, which was enough to make Deborah shift where she was slumping in the hard wooden chair and fix him with an expectant stare, "You…having more kids."

"I'm not sure I want to discuss that with you." Deborah laughed stiltedly, smirking more out of embarrassment than anything else; the thoughts of the future that she and Martin had been tentatively exploring still made her lungs flutter, no matter how pleasant they were, but Deborah still only felt comfortable expressing her desires for such things…well, with Martin. The last person she wanted to spill her wants and hopes with was her brother.

"You haven't got a choice." Archie countered, certain in his authority, as always; even though she didn't look, Deborah could _feel_ his eyes on her face, like lasers zoning in on their target, "Dad's not around to have this discussion with you, but I am, and I don't want you running into any more hitches after you're married."

"Martin and I haven't even talked about this, not properly-" Deborah insisted wanly, trying her best to sound exasperated when in reality she felt more like a child being scolded for something they hadn't done yet; she wasn't one to fidget, but it was a close call.

"But you want children with him?" Archie continued to interrogate her unimpeded it seemed by tact or any sense of sympathy for his sister's discomfort; it was still disconcerting seeing him try and act like a parent when he was as far from it as it was possible to be.

"Well, _yes_." Deborah remarked wryly, doing her best to assume an unaffected façade, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and tucking her arms more tightly around her chest, "The whole point of us getting married is that we spend our lives together, start a family…get a cat…"

"Then you shouldn't leave it too long." Archie replied, his words coming just a little too quickly as his expression pinched as if he were in pain just thinking about it; he was lucky that Deborah was bewildered by what he was saying, or she might not have been listening at all, "Debbie, as loathe as I am to think about it…you're not as young as you used to be, and Martin…"

"He's thirty eight." Deborah interjected, then cursed herself for falling into his trap.

"Right, so both of you are older than most people that get married and start families." Archie elaborated, then sighed; his hands twitched as if he were about to reach out to her, but decided against it at the last second, "I want you to be happy, and if you want children to be a part of that, then you can't leave it too long. Things go wrong…if you wait until you're _ready_ then you might miss your chance."

"I suppose you're right." Deborah admitted, after a moment of silence in which she inhaled slowly in an attempt to clear her head; he had a point…as much as she wished he didn't…she and Martin had been so caught up in their plans that the…logistics…hadn't been touched on at all, "I hadn't even thought about that."

Apparently that was exactly what Archie had expected, as he merely snorted and ran his hand through his thinning hair, wincing as if at the brittleness of it under his palm. Deborah thought about saying something more, and about propping her feet up on one of the empty chairs, and about simply closing her eyes and falling asleep…but mercifully she was saved the effort of coming to a decision, as from the front window resonated the low rumbling whirr that she had grown so accustomed to that the sound of it made a warmth flutter through her chest. Martin's van may have been falling to pieces, but it never failed to alert her to its owner's presence, like a well-trained labra-doodle.

"That's Martin." Deborah announced, perhaps a tad too eagerly; she didn't linger on that thought however, and instead pushed away from the table, rising to her feet and striding from the kitchen, safe in the knowledge that Archie was following, hands in pockets, as he always would, "He's been out with Arthur doing…I think they're arranging a party, not that we need another one. Don't tell him I know about that."

The only response that she received was a low grunt, and when Deborah glanced over her shoulder it was to see Archie hanging back wide opening between the kitchen and sitting room, hands buried in his pockets. He was giving them space…very generous of him considering that he had turned up unannounced.

Deborah wouldn't normally make a habit of waiting for Martin to get through the door as if she had desperately been anticipating his return, but with her headache and exhaustion, and the oddly fresh sense of stress settling on her shoulders, she couldn't think of anything she'd like more than to fall into his arms. Fortunately, Martin _did_ make a habit of shuffling through the front door just as he was in that moment, whatever the weather, a relieved smile on his face as he arrived home and turned his head this way and that, calling out for her.

"Deborah!" Martin exclaimed when his eyes fell upon her, cheeks flushed from the cold outside, but a smile wide and bright on his lips; he was dripping from every crease in his coat, but that didn't stop Deborah from moving hastily to him and throwing her arms around his shoulders, cherishing the little oomph and stumble that such an action produced.

"Since when do people call you Deborah?" she heard Archie muttered from somewhere behind her, but Deborah paid him no notice.

It was far more pleasant to sink into Martin's hold and enjoy the steady arm around her waist, and the hand rubbing small circles on her back as she tucked her cheek against his; Martin would tease her later, but that was alright, she supposed. If she closed her eyes now, she could fall asleep…that wasn't really an option though.

"Martin, darling…" Deborah drawled, pressing a kiss to his cheek and raising her voice just enough that Archie would hear and realise that they were happy; then she lifted her lips to Martin's ear, as he fidgeted in confusion against her, and whispered, "My brother's here; turned up out of the blue."

"Wh-what?" Martin spluttered, leaning back with wide eyes, mouth agape; his eyes wandered over her shoulder, and then snapped back to hers, and he flushed with horror, hands clenching at her back as he shook his head desperately, chest shuddering with panic, "What am I supposed to say – what do I do?"

"Just be yourself." Deborah assured him, stepping back and extricating herself from his grasp; she couldn't help but smile at the visceral terror on his face that he would never have allowed himself to display on the flight-deck.

"B-but what if he hates me?" Martin hissed, loud enough that Archie must have heard it, even though Martin leant down to close the gap between them; he hadn't taken that into consideration when parading her in front of _his_ family.

"_Well_, I think I'd forgive you." Deborah remarked, feigning a pout as Martin frowned at her; in all fairness, he _had_ to stand on his own two feet, or Archie would never take him seriously, "You don't need to impress him; if he doesn't like you, then he's free to leave us be."

"Right- okay." Martin exhaled slowly, raggedly almost, and flattened out his jacket with his hands, rolling his shoulders back as if he were about to face a beast; Deborah took the chance to slip the damp coat from his back when he strode past her and held his hand out to Archie's vigilant form, tilting his nose up as if he were balancing a lemon on the end, "Hello – I'm Marti-Captain Martin Crieff…hello."

"You're the _captain_ are you? _Golly_…" Archie drawled, eyeing Martin as if he were something wriggly from inside a zoo, the sort that performed when poked; while Deborah hung Martin's coat over the back of the door, he walked into the room to meet Martin, and took his hand in what must have been a tight grasp given the wince that Martin produced, "Archie Richardson; pleased to meet you at last."

"I'll go and put the kettle on." Deborah declared airily; she brushed her hand down Martin's upper arm as she passed, and turned on her heel, "Don't have too much fun without me."

With no intention of actually making drinks, Deborah walked as far into the kitchen as it took for her to duck behind the slight wall jutting out to separate it from the sitting room; from there she could lean against the wall, and watch Martin and Archie interact without the hindrance of her presence dampening their conversation. It promised to be far less exhausting than trying to decipher their facades had they known that she was there.

"So um…how, um, h-how was your trip down here?" Martin stuttered, rocking on his heels and rubbing at the back of his neck, which was as red as his ruffled hair; perhaps it had been cruel to leave him alone with Archie without warning, "I mean, I uh – sorry, I don't even know where you live-"

"Tell me a bit about yourself Martin?" Archie instructed sharply, ignoring the olive branch that was being extended for the sake of fixing him with a glare; it was more of an instruction really, that much was obvious, except it seemed to Martin.

"I'm sorry?" Martin replied, blinking abashedly; it was enough to halt his jittering at the very least.

"Tell me a bit about yourself." Archie repeated, employing all of the gravity he had developed with age, and that Deborah had seen him unleash on unsuspecting, and often terrified, apprentices; if she hadn't wanted to see what Martin did, she would have stepped in, "Debbie told me a bit, years and years ago, but it sounded like you used to really upset her, and when we spoke around a year ago, she sounded really, _really_ miserable."

"Well, um…yes, we, uh, w-we didn't along too well at first," Martin admitted, doing his best to keep his chin up and look Archie in the eye; it was painful to watch, but Deborah had faith in him…she even thought that he might have been smiling, just as she was, at the memory of them biting each other's heads off, "but we, we fixed that and we're friends now, _more_ than friends-"

"And the more recent bout of misery?" Archie inquired tersely, folding his arms and standing taller than Martin could ever hope to; he had some nerve, playing the protective older brother when he barely made the effort to call once in a while.

"Oh, um, that _was_ my fault actually – we…" Martin stammered, winding his hands together at his front; he seemed wary of stepping too close to Archie, and the space between them was almost tangibly taut, "We were fighting, and then I was in Switzerland-"

"So you fight?" Archie asked, quirking his eyebrows as if it were a surprise; he knew full well that Deborah argued with anyone she spent more than a week with, but Martin didn't know that he knew that, "Why should I believe that you're good for my sister when you've made her miserable before?"

"Because we're together now –a-a-and we're getting married." Martin insisted, shaking his head and opening and closing his mouth; his cheeks were turning steadily redder, and his brow was furrowing, the lines forming the precipice between frustration and defensiveness, "I love Deborah, i-isn't that enough."

"Hmmmm….tell me about yourself, Martin." Archie said again, and stance became that little bit more intimidating, "Convince me that you're good enough for my sister. I've sat back and watched her marry two men that were good for nothing even though she thought they were perfect – prove to me that you're good enough."

Deborah could have slapped him; the damn bugger was actually trying to threaten her fiancé…that was hilarious. In fact, Deborah couldn't keep the smirk from her face; Martin might have seemed pathetic, and a little wet at times, but he was a firework under pressure.

"I-I-I…I don't…No." Martin stuck his chin out and clenched his hands at his sides; the stammering didn't cease, but he held Archie's gaze without a trace of shame, "No, I won't prove anything to you. This is _my_ home, a-and Deborah wants to marry me, and I wouldn't have asked her to if I thought I wasn't good enough – that was the whole reason we split up in the first place. I'm not going to stand here and defend myself when I've never even met you before! I'm a _Captain_!"

"I _see_…" Archie drawled, narrowing his eyes at Martin, giving him a demonstrative once over; Martin might not have known what to look for, but Deborah could hear the edge to his tone that proved that he was impressed, despite his next words, "You and Debbie fight a lot, do you Martin?"

"Yes – I mean, we don't, I-I-I…we bicker, and we argue – but that doesn't mean we don't love each other." Martin cleared his throat awkwardly, and glanced towards the kitchen so quickly that Deborah had to duck back behind the wall, "That's just what we do."

"But I assume you've been working on _not_ fighting?" Archie asked, nodding as if to encourage Martin to answer correctly; he raised one hand over his folded arms and pressed it to the bottom of his chin, "On working through your differences."

"No." Martin replied shortly; he didn't even seem to notice the odd silence that fell over the room. Deborah had never been prouder of him; no one ever struck her brother speechless – ever.

"What do you mean _no_?" Archie retorted when he was able to stir up a response at all; his cool façade was gone, and he was staring at Martin with barely concealed confusion so great that he almost looked insulted, "You just said you love each other."

"Yes. We love each other, and we argue." Martin explained matter-of-factly; as if he saw that he held the high-ground, Martin rolled his shoulders back and breathed a sigh of, not quite relief, but of settling, "That's what we do – that's been how we work since the moment we met…ou-our whole relationship is built on the fact that we have our differences."

"How are you going to sustain a marriage if you can't get over your differences?" Archie demanded, his voice straining under the effort of losing his hoarse drawl; it was fantastic, watching him lose his composure, "You can't honestly want to spend the rest of your life bickering."

"I do!" Martin insisted; he spoke just as he did when failing to impress a passenger, "I-I-it took a while, but we…it doesn't matter that we bicker or fight, because we – even though she does and says things that I really disagree with, I love her. A-and I like to think that even though I annoy her, she loves me anyway. W-we don't need to get over our differences, because we learnt how to accept them. If we stopped fighting, we wouldn't be us anymore."

"So you _like_ fighting with her?" Archie asked, scrunching his nose up as he stared at Martin; he had no idea what to make of him…absolutely wonderful. Deborah would be making sure that Martin understood _exactly_ how grateful she was.

"Uh…yes and no…" Martin let out a nervous laugh, and bit down on his bottom lip; he could do nothing more than shrug, "I don't have to answer that."

There was a moment, one that stretched out just a bit too long…Deborah considered entering the room and cutting between the men, to try and ease the tension; Martin wasn't that good when confronted. But then the tension seemed to evaporate, with only a sigh and the subtle shifting of Archie's shoulders.

"You're a bit odd…" Archie remarked lightly, eyeing Martin as if he were some sort of poisonous reptile, with a mixture of nerves and respect; he unravelled his arms and slipped his hands into his pockets, "Did you know that?"

"I-I've been called worse…" Martin chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck; the jittering started up again, and he was still blushing furiously, but he was smiling, which was a good sign, "By Deborah…"

"No that's good." Archie interrupted him, smiling apologetically; it was starting to get worrying now, "Debbie needs someone…she's a bit odd too."

It was then that Deborah decided it would be pertinent to step in, and to break up whatever strange camaraderie they were starting up; the last thing she wanted was for her brother to start telling Martin all sorts of things about her that she had very deliberately been feeding him piece by piece.

oOoOoOo

After his unexpected arrival, Archie had declared that he would be staying in a bed and breakfast in Fitton until after the wedding; he said it was so that he could help Deborah prepare, but she knew it was just so that he could interfere. It didn't matter though. As an early wedding present, Carolyn had booked lots of flights to fill their time; she had been shocked when Deborah had grinned at the wall chart, thrilled to see that there were only a limited amount of days that Archie could use to harass her about dresses.

Besides, Deborah couldn't think of a single place in the world that Martin would rather spend the weeks leading up to his wedding than GERTI's flight-deck; he must have been rubbing off on her, as Deborah was actually happy to lounge about in their uncomfortable seats so long as he allowed her to sneak a few kisses…among other things.

"And finally, thank you for choosing MJN to fly you to Sas-kat-che-wan." Martin spoke as clearly as he could into the intercom, leaning over the control panel as he held the flight-plan in front of his nose; it was an adorable sight, and the warmth in her chest sent little sparks of inspiration whirling through her head. There was always time to tease him.

"Alright Martin, new game." Deborah announced cheerfully when Martin had flicked the switch for the intercom, and the tinny crackle had been replaced by the low humming of the engines, "You'll like this one-"

"Why is everyone suddenly picking holes in our relationship?" Martin demanded, slumping back in his seat and pouting, pushing his hat more securely onto his head; he hadn't seemed frustrated before, and the shift was sudden, "I mean first my family, then your brother…even Carolyn keeps sending us sideways glances. The only person that still thinks we're brilliant is Arthur."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Deborah remarked flippantly, dismissing his concern out of hand with a small smile; she knew exactly what he meant, but she didn't want him to dwell, not when dwelling often meant drowning in Martin's case, "Wait until the wedding, and then shove our happiness in their faces."

"Fair enough, I guess…" Martin grumbled, his throat bobbing as he pouted; there was no doubt that he would be bringing the matter up every few days until the wedding, "What was your game?"

"Places with names that are difficult to pronounce." Deborah replied, settling back and crossing one leg over the other; she smiled warmly, deliberately avoiding any sense of nonchalance. To her relief, Martin returned the gesture, although he traced the tips of his fingers around the end of the arm of his seat, playing with the rusting buttons.

"Oh, I see…alright…um…" Martin hummed thoughtfully; it was just like it had always been…fun, lovely, familiar, and easy to win and enjoy.

"Tbilisi for example." Deborah suggested, taking her eyes from Martin's face to stare out into the sky; it wouldn't do to look too smug so early in the game.

"Good." Martin acknowledged, nodding and pouting as he played along; he scrunched up his nose as he grasped desperately for something, eyes flickering desperately from side to side, "Um…"

"Or Sioux Falls." Deborah added, smirking and fighting the temptation to sneak too long a peek at him across the gap between them; too easy, far too easy, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Wow, well done." Martin remarked, irritation only beginning to seep into his tone; his eyes lit up with a wicked glint, and he turned to address her excitedly, "Um…oh, I've got one – uh, F…see, what you've done here is invented a game where I _can't_ answer even if I knew how."

"Can't you pronounce the names?" Deborah teased, fluttering her eyelashes at him; he had worked out the crux of her game far more quickly than he normally did.

"You know I can't." Martin retorted shortly, fixing her with a pointed glare; it was cute, really, although Deborah wouldn't admit it. He could pretend to be annoyed all he liked; he loved it.

"Montpellier." Deborah provided, in lieu of a response; she smirked and held his gaze, keeping one eye on the controls as they clicked fitfully in the background.

"Hold on, give me a chance…" Martin whined, jerking back into his seat and rubbing his hands together; she didn't have to wait long though, as his expression lit up and he practically jumped where he sat, hands flapping at his sides, "Oh, I've got it! Reykjavik!"

If they could do this forever, Deborah mused, then she might just be able to go to her grave feeling that she had lived a good life.

* * *

**I am really not pleased with the way that this chapter's written. I'm not sure why, so I couldn't alter it, but - meh...I don't know.**

**I hope you like where the story is going though**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here it is, the one I'm sure a lot of you have been waiting for.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Never in a million years had Deborah actually thought that she would be doing this again. It didn't even feel like _again_, not really; no, this time, it felt like it she was doing it properly, the _right_ way, and for good. There was no turning back now…it was a happy day.

It was overwhelming. Deborah could barely breathe, or think; too many thoughts, and too many feelings, and too many people prodding and poking at her, from the moment that she had woken up. The one thing that she couldn't cope with was being overwhelmed. Deborah liked to know what was going on, to be in control; being overwhelmed was like drowning in a lake made of sickly sweet joy and sour panic and nerves that jittered in her stomach, and too many people sticking bloody pins in her sides because they wouldn't just leave her alone.

Up until today, Deborah had been on top of things. They had the nicest, and only church in Fitton, which Martin had loved. They didn't waste money on things like flowers, because they'd be dead within a few days. Check and check. Dresses bought, guests arrived, suits in the men's cupboards, everything in place, just fine, no problems whatsoever.

Now, in the cleanest hotel that Fitton had to offer, in which they had lodged all of the wedding party, Deborah couldn't stop her fingers from curling into her palms, shuddering with nerves. The room was lovely, and peaceful…or it would have been, had Wendy not been tittering about, or if Archie would get his hands off of her dress and stop making last minute adjustments. He hadn't even been put off when Deborah had noted with a lack of tact that he was too old to be hobbling around dresses.

"Will you stop shaking already." Archie instructed, slapping away Deborah's hands as she tried to wrap her arms around her chest; he was kneeling by the hem of her dress, just as he had years before, with pins held securely between his lips as he tried to hem the white material that fell around her knees, "What is wrong with you?"

"It's my wedding day." Deborah muttered, unable to muster up much else in case the pounding in her chest decided to leap up her throat; no matter how proud she was of her hair, simply tied back making the most of the imperceptibly waves that had formed with length, she made no effort to stay still, or to refrain from shaking her head, "I'm nervous."

"Why?" Archie retorted, rising to his feet and patting down his hands as if he had been doing some sort of manual labour, "You never were before."

"Can you just stop fussing and go away, please?" Deborah asked wanly, letting her gaze drop to the floor so that he didn't feel the need to carry the conversation; it was hard to tell whether she was exhausted, or buzzing with energy, "The dress is fine, I'm fine; now leave me alone until the ceremony starts."

"Fine, there." Archie ignored her completely, and stepped forwards to adjust the lay of her sleeves, successfully avoiding her hands as Deborah leaned away and tried to thwack him for his efforts, "I couldn't get it better if I tried. Now-"

"Now leave me alone." Deborah interrupted, flinging her arm out to point to the door; she'd be fine, once she had some peace and quiet, and could get her thoughts in order. They didn't need ordering, she knew what she wanted, but everything was too loud, and to bright, and maybe a nap would help.

"You don't want to chat?" Archie inquired, as he hooked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked on his heels; he was deliberately ignoring her now, that much was for sure, making her life more difficult just because he could, "Run things over with me?"

"No." Deborah replied shortly, far from the sort of mood that might help her muster up a decent retort; she wrapped her arms around her waist, trying not to wince as the soft material of her dress brushed against the inside of her elbow, like a feathery prickle that reminded her of how important it was, "Go away."

"Fine; have it your way." Archie grumbled, frowning as if he had been the one inconvenienced; he strode towards the door, taking his time in turning the knob and pulling it open, shifting into the space created in its wake, "I'll be back later, ready to walk you down the aisle. Don't run away."

The moment that he was gone, and Deborah tried to inhale a breath of air to calm herself, Wendy took his place in front of her; she was dressed smartly, and perfectly made up for the sort of event that she so rarely got to attend. She was also becoming something of a hindrance.

"Oh, don't worry about him dear." Wendy tittered, tracing the tips of her fingers down Deborah's arms as if to map the lines of her sleeves; her smile hadn't faltered from the moment that she had arrived in Deborah's room, "You look beautiful, and everything's going to be just fine. I'm so thrilled for you!"

"Thank you…um…Wendy…wouldn't you rather be spending time with your son right now?" Deborah suggested, fully aware of how tired her voice sounded as she took a small step back, deliberately increasing the space between them; she continued trying to tuck herself into as compact an area of space as possible, without appearing too obvious, "He probably needs you more than I do."

"He's got the boys for that-" Wendy remarked dismissively, batting her hand through the air; she didn't seem to understand the noisy mess that Deborah was contending with in that moment.

"But surely he'd like his mother as well." Deborah persisted, nodding towards the door; she even went so far as to turn until she was facing it, as if by some slim chance that might help her win her battle, "I…I could really use a few minutes alone, please."

"Only if you're sure." Wendy replied, winding her hands together; to her credit though, she did step back, and survey Deborah with sympathetic eyes, as if she were finally twigging what she was being asked, "I don't want you to think that-"

"I'm fine, thank you." Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as she bit down on her lip, one last act to keep herself from doubling over and exploding; then she opened her eyes, and plastered on a smile, reminding herself that just because _she_ knew that she was happy, didn't mean that everyone else didn't need convincing, "I just need a bit of silence. Go and see Martin…I'm sure he'd be pleased to see you, and is driving the boys insane as we speak."

"Alright dear." Wendy agreed solemnly; with one last press of her hands to Deborah's arms, she stood back and smiled serenely, "Good luck…I'll see you in a little while."

Deborah didn't watch her leave, but she heard the door click shut as she walked to the edge of the bed and lowered herself onto it. It took less than a moment for her elbows to reach her knees, and her head to drop into her hands; the press of her palms against her eyelids was like a balm, easing out the rabble and injecting a little bit of freshness into her psyche. Deborah was happy, but she was bloody well overwhelmed…she would be glad when this was all over, for more reasons than one.

Then, as if Deborah hadn't endured enough people, an uncertain knocking punctuated the air; the rapping didn't stop, even when she stared at the door, praying that it would burst into flames.

"Who is it?" Deborah demanded, raising her voice so that it would be heard from the hall, "What do you want?"

"_It's me…Martin…"_ Martin's voice rattled through the thin wood of the door, and Deborah was on her feet and leaning sideways against it, hand and cheek pressed against the wood before she even knew that she had moved; he was the _one person_ that she wanted to see today, and even though the storm clouds in her stomach didn't leave, his voice was like a match, lighting up the familiar moths in her chest with his clumsy words, "_Hi…Are you in your dress?"_

"Of course I'm in my dress." Deborah scoffed, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the door, letting the loose locks of her hair brush against her cheek; oddly, she couldn't help but feel…embarrassed…almost as if she might be blushing, though such an idea was ridiculous, "Martin, what are you doing here?"

"_I snuck away from Simon and Arthur, a-and then from Mum, when I saw her leaving_." Martin explained; it was strange, talking to him like this, "_I wanted to talk to you before the ceremony."_

"You're being _sneaky_." Deborah drawled, smiling despite herself, stupidly; _god_ she was nervous, or excited, she didn't know; whatever it was, it was making her feel about twelve years old, despite the flash of familiar fondness that was most definitely adult, "Oh, darling, you know I love it when you're sneaky."

"_I know you do_." Martin remarked, sounding far too proud of himself, "_Is there any way that I can come in without seeing the dress; i-it's just that it's bad luck, but we, uh, we sort of need to be in the same room, a-and I'm afraid if I stay out here someone might see me_."

"Alright, hold on." Deborah instructed, pushing away from the door to scurry back into her room and dig out the stupidly long coat that Archie had brought with him; it would do, she mused as she hooked it over her shoulders, and if it didn't, then Martin would have to endure, because if there was one person that she needed to see in that moment, it was him, "Come in."

Her back was still turned when the door swung open, and Martin's thudding footfalls hurried inside; that didn't mean that Deborah couldn't imagine him slamming the door and then standing back against it, cheeks flushed as he congratulated himself on pulling off such a feat of sneakiness. When Deborah whirled on her heel, she found herself stopping, unable to take another step forwards for a moment as she took him in; Martin, in a smart suit, all neat and tidy as he couldn't stand it another way, ginger hair combed as best he could without making a lick of a difference, and a wide smile on his face, while his eyes…

"Hi…" Martin let out a low breath, as he drew his bottom lip through his teeth, for once lost for words; there was a light in his eyes, dampened somewhat by the tears that seemed to well up without him noticing…he had never looked more beautiful, Deborah thought, but then again…she didn't think that she had ever seen him so wonderstruck.

And he couldn't even see her dress…she had no idea what could be going through his mind, but it was probably something suitably soppy.

"Hello…don't you look handsome?" Deborah felt the warm smile brighten her face and clear the fuss from her chest, as she moved towards him; Martin mirrored her movements, and with a little effort she was able to run her fingers down the lapels of his jacket, and straighten his tie for him, wondering why he hadn't succumbed and worn his Captain's hat as he had been threatening to do for weeks, "You know, we're supposed to meet up later, when the boring old man talks at us and we sign the forms."

"Yes, I know, of course, b-but I…I wanted to talk to you." Martin replied, his voice low and thick with something that Deborah couldn't put her finger on; his hands wandered up to curl around the back of hers, and he lowered them between the two of them, the movement making it ever more clear that he was shaking more than she ever had been, "I-I've been thinking, for days, and days, a-and I-I-I've finally been able to get something straight in my head, without a piece of paper."

"I thought you'd been tossing and turning." Deborah remarked, casting her mind back to the nights that Martin had almost leapt out of bed, muttering to himself; out of respect, she hadn't asked at the time, as it seemed, quite correctly, to be the preclude to one of his convoluted schemes, "What is it?"

"Well, y-you know how we decided that we weren't doing personalised vows." Martin stammered, gripping her hands and swinging them in the few inches left between them, his blue eyes following the movement, "B-because we didn't think that we could, a-and because it's embarrassing, a-and…"

"And because writing a grandiose speech for the sake of a group of people that we only invited to be polite sounds painful." Deborah finished for him, earning herself a truncated sort of chuckle that sounded more like a squeak, "Yes, I remember."

"Right, well…I want to do that." Martin explained, concisely at first; he said it with a sort of certainty, with a furrowing of his brow and a crinkling of the bridge of his nose that negated the way that his hands were shaking, "Not the public vows! I'd probably just pass out, a-and hit my head, o-or embarrass you. B-but I want to do the speech – o-or to tell you…this might be the only chance I get to tell you exactly how I feel, beyond loving you, without having to worry about it seeming fake, or forced, o-or…I want it to be _ours_, and just for us."

"You…you want to do vows? Now?" Deborah repeated, slowly, taking her eyes from Martin's face so that she could cast her gaze around the bare room; the noise was gone, replaced by a soothing hum, but the moths in her chest were raging, and clenching at her lungs, and when she looked back into Martin's eyes, she was almost bowled over by the determination that she found, "We haven't prepared anything, Martin, we-"

"Exactly, it'll be straight from the heart." Martin insisted, nodding hastily as if to cement his point; he lifted one hand, dragging Deborah's with it to run his fingers through the loose strands of her hair and push them behind her ear, "And probably a bit rambly, but I want you to know – you don't have to say anything back-"

"No, that's…that's okay." Deborah cut him off, and grasped his hands tightly, lowering them back down between the two of them; she smiled as she blinked up at him, inhaling sharply and forcing herself to remember that she was good, she could roll with the punches, even if it felt like one perfectly romantic punch to the gut, "Martin, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah…I'm fine." Martin was practically trembling as he spoke, and shifted his weight between his feet, keeping his head ducked down as if looking at her for too long might blind him more than the burning in his cheeks was blinding her, "It's just, I-I've been thinking so much lately, a-and it hit me last night that…that the ceremony and the forms, that's the official wedding, b-but…but the important bit, that's the bit where we're completely open with each other and commit to being together forever…and I want to do that alone with you, not in front of everyone, a-and I-I-I-I-"

"Okay, we'll do that." Deborah assured him, calmly, soothingly, lifting their joined hands to brush against the outside of his arms before shifting closer; just close enough that their noses brushed, and she could say before she leaned back, "Just…breathe."

Breathe Martin did, over and over again, each time more deeply, more calmly; on the fourth go, as Deborah eyed him warily, prepared to escort him outside for his own safety, his lips tugged into a smile, which shattered under the impact of his nerves, as he lifted his hand to push the back of his sleeve over the bottom of his face.

Then he stilled, and Deborah stilled, and she could have sworn as Martin's eyes bored into hers with his captain-like determination, that the only thing anchoring her to the world was the sensation of his palms, sweaty and hot against hers, gripping so tightly that it stung.

"I-I don't know if I'll be able to say this in front of other people - not because I don't mean it, or because I don't want them to know," Martin stuttered, but he kept talking, like a train without brakes, "but because I...I really think that you're the only person I trust to hear this sort of thing, from me."

"I love you so much, a-and I want you to be my wife...b-because of a thousand reasons, most of which are about you..." the words kept coming, and Deborah could only press her lips together and fight the hot prickle at the back of her eyes as Martin's voice grew imperceptibly stronger, while disintegrating all the same, "but there's a couple that are the most important, a-and I want you to know them, before we do this, b-because I want you to know exactly what you mean to me, and exactly h-h...h-how much I love you."

"Y-y-you...you are...everything to me...and I mean that, completely sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I-I-I've been thinking about how to say this, in words, a-and this is all I've got...so I hope it's okay." Martin stammered to a pause, and waited for Deborah's little nod, before ploughing onwards, red rings appearing under his eyes as his voice turned shrill, "It's like, everything in my life, i-it's been moving around too fast, and nothing ever stays still, l-like I can barely keep hold of my CPL, o-or my job, o-or my rank, a-and Icarus and living at Parkside - everything has just been one big blur of things that I can't keep hold of."

"A-a-and then there's you, a-and you're like, the one thing in my life that's staying still, and that I can properly focus on - I-I-I should have seen it, because even when we first met, and we weren't, w-we perhaps weren't great - i-it was still like you were always there, and always stable, l-l-like a solid thing that was definite in my life, w-waiting at work," Martin choked up, and his hands flexed around Deborah's but that was good, because it covered up the choked sound that she made, as she tried to swallow the burning lump in her throat, "a-and we'd play, o-or we'd argue, b-but you'd always be there, a-and I'd try not to stare at you b-because you were so beautiful, a-and so clever, a-and funny...a-and you're like the one certainty in my whole life. Everything else could fall through, but even when we were falling apart, you were still there."

"Deborah...I love you, and I want to have you in my life every day, for the rest of my life - m-more than that, I-I want to be there for you, a-and I want...I don't just want us to be there, I want to be together, completely," Martin extended his arms, swinging the both of theirs in a way as if to demonstrate just how connected they were, "so that even if things go really wrong, we're a team, and a unit...and I want to be able to say - here is my wife, isn't she wonderful, she loves me and I love her and we're very happy together…"

"D-d'you...is that...does that make sense?" Martin concluded in his typical fashion, trailing off, peering hopefully into her eyes, lip between his teeth, cheeks flushed scarlet; he was still trembling, but Deborah hardly noticed as her hands were shaking so much, and her lips were shuddering, and she didn't think that she could contain the rush of emotion that was flooding her chest, burning behind her eyes, telling her to lurch forwards and fall into Martin a thousand times over, and mess up his suit while she was at it.

"Yeah...yes...I love you too...Martin I...I can do this too." Deborah tried to maintain some semblance of calm, but her voice was thin and lighter than it had ever been, and she knew that she was on the verge of tears; she loved him so much, nothing could ever, _ever_ break her from the giddy trance that had her laughing, and wringing her hands around Martin's as he grinned down at her, bashful and shivering, "You'll like this…I haven't had all the practice that you did."

Play it cool, make a joke, be the self-deprecating one for a change. Martin would like that…Martin liked _her_…completely and honestly, he really did; god only knew why.

"You...do you remember how, a while ago….you said that, perhaps the reason all my attempts at happiness up until you had failed, was because we were meant to be together?" Deborah asked, and waited for Martin's eyes to narrow, and for him to nod, eyebrows knitting adorably; then she let go of the reigns, and just spoke, because there was nothing else that she could do, "Because...I've been thinking, lately, that maybe you were right...Martin, I can honestly say that you...you make me the happiest that I have ever been in my life. The only thing that comes close to being with you, was having my daughter, and even then...thinking about Verity is often more painful than anything else."

"I...I really do think that we were meant to be together, and...because we fit, and there's something about you that has made me happy...and I think I've got my head around why...because you're funny, and you're lovely, and lots of other things...but we have fun..." Deborah explained, as best as she could; she hadn't even known that all of this was straight in her head, "I have never been happier, because I don't think I've ever had so much fun as when I'm with you, and I...I love you for that."

"And I think...I think the reason that nothing worked before, is because I lost sight of what I actually wanted, which was to have fun...I got so caught up in trying to be the best, and to be respected, and to slot in all of the components that made a good life, that although I got the respect I wanted, and I sort of enjoyed the smuggling, and the drinking..." she trailed off, and watched Martin's reaction; he nodded, and smiled, and leaned in just enough that though their hands were still joined, his arms were tucked just around hers, as if to tell her that everything was forgiven, or that he just didn't care, which was more likely, "I stopped having fun, and it all became about impressing people, and one upping them, and succeeding."

"Then you turned up, and even though you were, and still sort of are, a pernicious arse..." at this Martin snorted indignantly, but he was laughing, and Deborah wouldn't have stopped even if he had asked her to, "for the first time since...since before I can remember, you actually gave me the chance to have fun, and to enjoy myself, and even those first few flights when we barely talked and I was trying to figure you out...I have never had so much fun with anyone in my life, as I have with you."

"You are like...you're like a shining light in the middle of a lot of misery..." Deborah choked then, but she forced herself to carry on, even though her voice was shattering into broken reeds, and she was so close to closing her eyes and crying, "and you know I love you so much that I'd let you run far away to try and do better with your life, even though it might well have killed what was left of me. I love you so much, a-and I don't want to go a single day without you in it."

Deborah's voice broke, but she barely had time to take a breath. Martin was gone from her line of vision, and all that she could see was complete darkness as he thudded into her, wrapping his arms around her back, pulling her in, squeezing tightly.

Deborah extracted her arms from his chest, dragging in shuddering breaths as she curled them around his shoulders and pressed her nose against the crook of his neck, just under his ear, and let herself be suffocated by the solid weights around her waist, the warm pressure turning circles at her back, the rough scratch of his collar against her cheek as she inhaled the sharp scent of his cologne…all of it catering to the lurching _need_ in her chest that was digging like an animal to get out, to be closer to the shaking, heaving heat of Martin's as he inhaled raggedly, blowing little breaths through his nose into her hair.

And they were rocking, of that much Deborah was sure, as the burning in her eyes died down, and she squeezed Martin tighter, and held on, and just cherished being held, rocking and lulling and completely…the ceremony might be fun, but nothing, not the signing of the register, or the vicar…not one single moment would feel as perfect, none of it would bring them as close together as they were now.

Martin did have a good idea every now and then.

"You know…I remember the first time we did this." Deborah murmured, when the desperation waned, and all that was left was the sweet rocking, and the loosening of holds, and she could lay her cheek on Martin's shoulder and lean back just enough to make eye contact, "Hugging, I mean."

"What?" Martin retorted blearily, blinking as if emerging from a dream; his hand was still turning circles on her back through the thick coat, "I-I-I can't remember…when was that?"

"It was ages and ages ago." Deborah remarked lazily, smiling effortlessly as she set her mind back; the memory sent the same dizzy rush of moths fluttering through her chest as it had done at the time, all new and shiny, "I think someone had driven into my car."

"Are you sure?" Martin asked, scrunching his nose up; of course, he had to disagree, have a different, _wrong_ set of memories, "You're sure it wasn't that time you nearly killed us all and then I shouted at you?"

"No, that was afterwards…years later, actually." Deborah corrected him, shaking her head and pursing her lips; now _that_ was an event that she had tried to forget, and why Martin had chosen to hold onto it was beyond her, "It was definitely when I came back from the hospital…I remember thinking it was odd because you were supposed to hate me."

Martin only hummed and dropped his chin back down to rest against the side of her head; Deborah felt his hand come up to play with her hair, and only just stopped herself from scolding him for messing up the lacklustre arrangement. It was nice…it couldn't last…the swinging open of the door was enough to prove that.

It had completely left her mind that she had given Arthur the spare key to her room.

"Skip!" Arthur exclaimed, as he strode into the room, looking tidier than he ever had before in a suit only just duller than Martin's; for once his responses were quicker than theirs, as he looked between them like misbehaving children, "You're not meant to be in here!"

"Oh, god, sorry." Martin leapt back, tripping slightly as he unwound his arms from around Deborah and straightened his suit, hands raised all the time as if in surrender; he made a move as if to run away, but stumbled on his heels as he turned and met Deborah's gaze, "I'll um…I'll just, I-I-I'll just…go then…"

"I'll see you in a minute." Deborah nodded, knowing exactly what he was thinking as he nodded hastily and hurried from the room, leaving the door wide open behind him; the next time they saw each other, they would be getting married. Not a _big_ deal…

"Are you alright?" Arthur's voice came as if through a haze, and when Deborah looked up, she realised that she had been staring at the open door, arms curling around her chest; Arthur came to stand beside her, bending slightly so that he could look into her eyes, "Is…is crying something you're supposed to do on your wedding day? I don't think it is."

"It's alright." Deborah assured him, though her voice was still weak, and she thought that he looked more worried than anything else, hands flying into the air as if to catch her should she topple sideways; she didn't quite know what to do with herself now, "Happy tears, that's what they are."

"Oh, okay…do you want a hug?" Arthur offered, only to squawk in surprise when Deborah nodded, choked quite loudly, and then almost toppled into his arms; she pressed her hand over her eyes, but that didn't seem to be enough, as Arthur grew more panicked, "Oh, no! Please don't cry, this is a happy day!"

Oh dear…delayed reaction, Deborah's mind so helpfully supplied; smiled for Martin, and his romantic speech, now the meaning of it was actually hitting home…painfully…wonderfully…it was all fine…

"Hey, Arthur…" Deborah stepped back and out of Arthur's hold, and pushed her thumbs underneath her eyes, brushing away the tears that had managed to escape; her lips were trembling, and she was trembling, and he voice could have been made of glass, but she knew what to do, "Could _you_ walk me down the aisle please. I'd like that…"

"I thought your brother was-" Arthur replied, helpful as always, reminding her of what he must have assumed that she had forgotten.

"Can you please?" Deborah interrupted, wincing at how near to begging she was; she couldn't be like this when the ceremony started, that would be awful, "I, I…I need to hold someone's hand, and…if…if I'm holding anyone's hand, I'd really rather it was yours."

"Okay…" Arthur promised, slowly, as he lifted his hand to rest on Deborah's shoulder; the poor boy didn't need this kind of thing to deal with, not in the least, "I'll have to tell Skip; I'm his best man-"

"You can walk with me then stand next to him; it's fine." Deborah replied dismissively, shaking her head and batting her hands through the air as she turned away from him and strode to the side of the bed, so that she could rifle through her suitcase for something that she hadn't decided on yet, "Just, um, just run and let him know, will you?"

"Righto!" Arthur chirped from behind her; she listened to his feet clatter to the door, and then into the hall, "I'll be back in a minute."

oOoOoOo

The ceremony was beautiful. That was what Deborah would tell herself, and everyone else, for years. It _felt_ beautiful. Never in her life had Deborah been filled with so much…_happiness_…it felt as if she had been glowing out of every pore, radiant and shining like the sun, all because Martin had been looking at her as if she were a star in the sky. He was beautiful too, but the sort of beautiful that rebounds and makes everyone it falls on feel as if they could outmatch the moon.

Or perhaps Deborah had just been so very, truly happy, and the warmth had burst from her chest and burnt away any traces of tears of nerves.

In years to come, all that Deborah would remember, was how handsome Martin had looked, and the laughter. They hadn't stopped laughing, from start to finish…it was the most fun she had ever had.

Deborah didn't really remember walking down the aisle. All that she could focus on was how tightly she was gripping Arthur's hand, because his winces were audible from a few inches away, Verity skipping along behind her, looking far more stunning than any twelve year old had a right to be, and Martin, whose mouth fell open when he laid eyes on her.

Martin blushed and stammered, and then made as if to take a step towards her…forgetting of course that where they were standing was on a raised step. The vicar caught him by the arm though, and Martin remained upright, and Deborah arrived by his side sniggering, her smirk refusing to budge as she slipped her hand into his.

"Oh, there seems to have been a change." The vicar remarked brightly, glancing at Arthur, and then over his shoulder to where Deborah presumed that Archie was sitting; she didn't care though, she was too busy mouthing at Martin, and receiving a gently elbow in her ribs, "Will you be giving this lady away?"

"I reckon she's giving herself away actually." Arthur replied, bewildered; his hand hovered around Deborah's back, and he didn't seem to notice the odd look that the vicar gave him, "I don't own her."

It made Martin snort though, and as Arthur scurried around behind them to arrange himself beside Martin, Deborah turned so that they were facing each other, and delivered her other hand into his. One look at the trembling of his lips, and she was giggling too as she caught his eyes, and she had to let go of his hand to raise the back of hers to her lips. Neither of them stopped giggling, but they managed well enough that only the front row noticed.

The talking took a while, and Deborah wasn't really paying attention. Only the most important words managed to make an impression, and that was only because Martin twitched, and his eyes sharpened pointedly as if he were silently telling her to _pay attention_.

"Will you Deborah Alison…" the vicar rambled…ramble, ramble, ramble; he was saying a lot of things, and Deborah repeated them, but they weren't all that important.

"I will." Deborah replied on cue, smirking up at Martin; make it into a game, she thought, while the vicar said some more things, make it into a game and maybe he'll trip up.

"Will you, Martin Raymond…" again, the vicar rambled, and Martin nodded along to every word as if he wasn't turning Deborah's fingers over against his, and watching her every move, blushing furiously and jittering on his heels.

"Yes – I mean, I will." Martin exclaimed, grimacing as he got the words wrong, even as Deborah chuckled and nudged his wrist with hers; she would pay for distracting him later, but it was worth it for the giggles that it was providing now.

And then there was more talking that Deborah didn't listen to, and more repeating what the vicar said. Deborah wasn't sure what they had decided upon, but the one thing that did enter her consciousness was the fact that the vicar started every sentence with the words 'Alright folks?'…Martin must have noticed too, because every time the vicar did just that, Martin drew his bottom lip between his teeth and glanced at the floor, and Deborah just knew that he was holding in a laugh.

Finally, the vicar finished talking, talking and talking without pause, and Arthur stepped forwards to put the rings in Martin's hand. To everyone's surprise, Deborah was sure, Martin didn't drop them; he navigated them in his palms, giving one to her for later, and positioning his own between his fingers. When the instruction was given, he was ready to do as he was told, poised and perfect.

Martin lifted Deborah's hand, her _right_ hand, so gently, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles. She watched, feeling her lips curl upwards into the warm tingling that now formed her cheeks, and waited for him to correct himself…only he didn't, and her smirk grew all the more, bubbling with the rush of affection that threatened to drown her as Martin brought the ring to the tip of her finger.

"Wrong hand, darling." Deborah whispered, leaning in just as Martin leaned down, raising her left hand to trace her fingers against the opposite cheek; there was only so long that she could allow him to carry on, after all.

With a start, Martin straightened his back and stared at the hand that he was holding, then at the ring, then back at her hand. Then, his eyes trailed up to meet hers, and Deborah could _see_ the moment that he gave up completely, shoulders sagging, cheeks burning darker than they ever had, as his eyes snapped shut.

But Martin didn't curse, or grimace, or do anything as he would have normally. Instead, as if by some miracle, he stumbled forwards and pressed his forehead against Deborah's, his free hand wrapping around her back as the one holding the ring grasped desperately for her left, which she gracefully supplied.

Then they were laughing…giggling actually, quietly, faintly, but the sniggers were there. Deborah, because it was _always_ a time to tease him, and Martin because there had to come a moment in every man's life that he looked at himself and realised that he was ridiculous. Deborah had never been happier; she could only grip the collar of Martin's suit with her free hand, refraining from pulling him into an embrace, as they collected themselves.

"Oh god…can we take a minute?" Martin groaned, raising his voice just loud enough that the vicar might have been able to hear him; it was wonderful to hear him like that, joking, calm, absolutely ridiculous, but so perfect, "Just a break…people can get coffee, we'll do this bit while they're gone."

"I'm game if you are." Deborah sniggered, and with that she tipped her head down and pressed a kiss to his lips; it was brief, but fun, and she couldn't help but laugh again…oh, this wasn't going to plan at all.

"No, no, come on." Martin told her, pulling back enough that he could push a hand through his hair; he made an effort to clear his throat and school his expression, but the effect was barely noticeable, "We're good – carry on."

oOoOoOo

With the wedding ceremony over, all that was left to do was to enjoy the reception; or at least, what Martin had decided constituted a reception, with tables and music in the background and catering…how he had pulled it all together, Deborah didn't want to know. All that mattered was that while the other guests milled around, she and Martin could sit at a table with Carolyn and Herc, and Arthur when he returned from wherever he had gone.

"Really, the both of you." Herc told them, smiling serenely; although he had an arm slung across the back of Carolyn's chair, he was careful not to appear too affectionate as he leaned across the table to emphasise just how pleased he was with the two of them, "Congratulations. I'm very proud of you."

"Oh, please don't be proud of us." Deborah groaned, rolling her eyes and slouching back into Martin's hold, propping her feet up on Arthur's abandoned chair; she was happy, so damn happy, practically dizzy with it, but that didn't mean she was a soft touch, "The thought is actually painful."

"Thank you, Herc. We really appreciate you being here." Martin interrupted, giving Deborah's waist a quick pinch, although he couldn't keep the smile from his face; he had been wandering around as if in a daze for about an hour, struck dumb when they had been welcomed in as 'Mr and Mrs Crieff, "Are you alright Carolyn, you look a bit…"

"A bit what?" Carolyn retorted, scowling as if she were truly insulted by what she was hearing; she could pretend all she liked though, Deborah could tell when she was feigning misery, "What are you implying?"

"Nothing." Martin replied swiftly, biting down on his lip; instead of facing Carolyn, he buried his nose in Deborah's hair.

"No congratulations then?" Deborah inquired, curling her hand through the air; she had every right to be smug, considering how good a day it had been, and Carolyn baiting was just the icing on the cake, "I thought you'd have been brimming with things to say by now."

"Isn't my having hired the both of you enough?" Carolyn groaned, glaring irritably between them with just a tad less heat than usual; she shifted uncomfortably, as if the thought of romance made her wince…which it probably did, "Surely, being the sole reason that you know each other at all is more than enough involvement in your relationship; I shouldn't have to dole out congratulations as well."

"_Oh, _that is _lovely_." Deborah drawled, smirking as Carolyn tore her eyes away, "You're _really_ proud of us, _aren't_ you?"

"You know, Carolyn." Martin remarked, regaining his nerve; he cleared his throat as Deborah's hand dropped down to his knee, but carried on as if nothing had happened, "Even though you were cruel and hired me for nothing, and then refused to pay me for years and years…I'm actually really grateful that you're not a very nice person."

"Thank you, I suppose." Carolyn muttered, folding her arms and sitting back from the table; she startled when her back hit Herc's arm, but when she realised that Deborah was watching, maintained her cool and glared right back.

"She is proud though." Herc assured them, grinning and leaning in to whisper conspiratorially; he had his uses, Deborah supposed, and making fun of his girlfriend was one reason to keep him around, "She even teared up during the service."

"I most certainly did not!" Carolyn snapped, nostrils flaring; there was no doubt at all that she had cried during the ceremony, something which Deborah made sure to file away for later, "I still can't believe you voluntarily became Deborah _Crieff_."

"I wouldn't have minded if you'd wanted to keep your last name." Martin murmured in Deborah's ear; that wasn't true at all, he would have pretended that he was fine and then pouted for weeks, remembering it for the rest of their lives. It wasn't a problem though; Deborah was pleased…and there were the cheerful tingles again.

"But I didn't, so the point's moot." Deborah retorted, tipping her head back so that she could meet Martin's smile, and receive a quick kiss, as she lifted her hand and wound her fingers around his; as she turned back to the table, her gaze fell upon her _stunning_ daughter, skipping towards her, dress flowing this way and that, "Oh, here she comes…hello Sweetheart."

"Hello Mummy!" Verity exclaimed, as she pranced to the table and threw herself into her mother's arms for only a second before flouncing back and leaping into Martin's hold; he had finally learnt how best to prepare, after years of being nearly bowled over, and Deborah had to admit, the sight was rather lovely, "Martin…"

A moment later, Verity's father appeared at behind Carolyn's seat, hands buried in his pockets, and an awkward smile on his face; although he hadn't been allowed to come to the wedding, Martin had insisted that Chris be allowed to attend the reception, for Verity's sake if nothing else. Deborah had grudgingly agreed, and was glad that she had. The man had actually made an effort, and it looked as if he had shaved down to the skin for once; or perhaps his wife had simply forced him to look his best.

"Congratulations…" Chris offered gruffly, taking care not to hold eye contact for too long, and instead watching their daughter as she slipped from Martin's hold and pushed Deborah's feet from the spare chair so that she could drop down into it herself, "I'm uh…I'm pleased for you, I really am."

"Thank you." Deborah replied, politely, as she knew that there was really nothing else to say to the man that she hadn't quite stopped hating, though she made an effort to get along; nevertheless, she leaned backwards just enough that Martin took the hint and curled his arm more securely around her waist, cocooning her in a comforting warmth that only just made her feel a little smug.

"And, Martin…" Chris continued, stiltedly, as if he hadn't meant to speak at all; Martin hummed in acknowledgement, ears practically pricking as they always did when anyone paid him the slightest bit of attention, "If you ever wanted to go for a pint, when I drop Verity off with you two then…well, we could grab your mate and make a lad's night of it. We might as well, as you're hanging around."

"Really?" Martin asked, shifting behind Deborah and puffing out his chest ever so slightly; the offer had been made and accepted many times before, but he never seemed to accept that he was being offered the hand of friendship, no matter how many nights out he experienced, "Yes, I mean –that would be great, to uh, go for a pint, of um…stout, or…bitter."

"On the subject of his mate, where is Arthur?" Deborah inquired, making a show of glancing over her shoulder; as much as the fluttering in her chest was exacerbated by the idea of everyone falling into place, and of her daughter having a stable family graph for once in her life…it was time to stop talking about her ex and her new husband becoming best buddies.

"Oh, he popped down to the bar." Chris informed her, nodding in the direction of the door, through which the downstairs bar was located; he scratched his chin, and again, looked uncomfortable at being there at all.

It was too much, and Deborah took pity on him, nodding slightly, and allowing him to wander away without appearing rude. She was just about to wonder aloud as to what Arthur wanted with a bar of all things, to lighten the mood and get Carolyn and Herc bickering again, but she was beaten to the punch.

"You're really pretty, Mummy." Verity chimed, as she fiddled with an empty champagne glass which had previously been filled with elderflower water, for the sake of illusion; although she batted her eyelashes and smiled warmly, the light in her eyes made Deborah suspect that there were ulterior motives in play, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I'm going to make sure that I get copies of the photos so that I can show my friends how beautiful you looked."

Of course, Deborah mused as she smirked and rolled her eyes, that was Verity speak for 'I want photos so that I can show everyone how pretty _I_ looked in my bridesmaid's dress'; she couldn't fault her daughter for style…the girl could tell barefaced lies to her face without even blinking.

"She is, isn't she?" Martin remarked obliviously, addressing Verity with the same punch-drunk daze that he had been lulled by for hours, "You're dress is lovely too Verity; you did really well during the service."

"Thank you." Verity replied smugly, as she placed the glass back on the table and flicked at the ruffled near her knees with the tips of her fingers; far, far too proud of herself, but perfectly so, "Frizzles said I wouldn't be able to pull it off, but I think that after Mummy took up the hem, it fits me perfectly."

"Well, you don't want to take advice from anyone who's named after the family cat." Carolyn muttered, taking a hearty swig from a glass of red wine that she had acquired at some point during the initial dancing and swaying and congratulatory stages of the reception; wherever it was from, Deborah was willing to fund as many glasses as possible if it got Carolyn drunk and giggling and making a fool of herself by the end of the night.

"Hmmm." Verity hummed thoughtfully, and flicked her hair over her shoulders, turning her back on her mother to address Carolyn directly, "I didn't say that to her face, but I wrote something similar in my diary. Hopefully we'll all be long gone before anyone finds it."

"Perhaps." Deborah agreed wanly; then, remembering the small tokens of thanks that Martin had just _insisted_ that they supply to their colleagues, she turned and sat a little straighter, running her eyes over her _husband's_ face, "Martin, have you – oh…my…god…"

As her gaze fell just over Martin's shoulder, Deborah was met by a sight that made her freeze, and her mouth fall open. Her stomach lurched once, like an excitable terrier having seen something it was particularly fond of, but her mind was screaming at her to pummel her _idiot_ of a brother as she slipped from Martin's embrace and rose to her feet before she had time to process the action.

"What, what's wrong?" Martin squawked, hastily turning this way and that, eyes blown wide as if he were expecting terrorists or even naturists to storm the battlements and steal their spotlight; he had been telling her about the likelihood of such an event the night before.

"Nothing's wrong…that's my grandmother." Deborah answered faintly, as she patted her hands down the creases of her dress and tugged at the loose knot tying back her hair in an almost subconscious race to neaten up; she was striding towards the old woman and her wheelchair before she had even finished speaking, but she could hear Martin's footsteps hot on her heels, "She's well over a hundred years old! What the _hell_ is she doing out of bed? Archie!"

But Archie was gone in seconds, disappearing into the thin crowd; he knew what was good for him, that much was for sure. He should never have brought their grandmother to the wedding, no matter how pleased Deborah was despite herself. The woman was frail, and thin, and her skin was so near to paper that her sharp features and wispy hair did nothing but increase her vulnerability; the wheelchair did that well enough, as did the oxygen tank that she appeared to be neglecting for the sake of smiling warmly…curt and concise, exact and poised, just like Deborah's mother had been, even when extending affection. She was ancient…and at the same time, one couldn't help but feel that she was a hair's breadth away from condemning someone to death.

"Hello, Debbie, sweetheart." Granny exclaimed calmly, somehow making her voice heard as she stretched out her arms; somehow, Deborah found herself bending down and receiving a trembling hug, before withdrawing carefully, standing back as the old woman continued to speak unimpeded, "It's so lovely to see you – gosh, don't you look beautiful. And this must be your handsome young man."

"Hello. Charmed to meet you." Martin introduced himself, in the practiced, smarmy 'I am the Captain' tone that he always used when lacking in confidence; he bent down slightly to shake Granny's hand, and then, sparing Deborah a nervous glance, blushed, and lied through his teeth, "I've heard so many good things about you – I-I'm Martin, hello."

"Aren't you a dear." Granny noted matter-of-factly, her gaze so piercing that Deborah felt Martin's arm curl around hers so that their hands intertwined; then she looked back to Deborah, folding her hands in her lap, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony, but I'm here now, so you can just appreciate the fact that I'm still breathing after your brother's ridiculous method of getting me into the car."

"Granny, what are you doing here?" Deborah inquired, as lightly and politely as she was capable of; something about her grandmother's gaze made her guts shiver, and her throat tickle, and shot her back decades until she barely came up to any adult's waist, "You shouldn't be-"

"Don't fuss over me." Granny instructed sharply, pointing a hooked finger at her; old she may have been, but she certainly didn't realise her own lack of strength, "Now, sit down."

Immediately, Deborah reached for a seat that had been abandoned a few feet away, and plonked it down in front of the wheelchair, listening to the scrape as Martin did the same; sitting, with her wrists propped on her knees, one leg pressed against Martin's Deborah couldn't help but feel a bit ridiculous, and far more tiny.

"Why am I sitting?" Deborah asked thinly, sparing a glance towards Martin, who was biting his lip and looking somewhat like a schoolboy, and nothing of a captain; the image of him pouting slightly, red faced and anxious, eased her nerves just a tad, as she recalled again how _perfect_ it was that they would be spending the rest of their lives together.

"Because I want to talk to you and this makes it harder for you to run away." Granny replied, tipping her chin into the air and making a roundabout motion with her hand; the bones in her wrist clicked, and Deborah held her tongue, "The first thing I want to say…is how proud I am of you. For the first time since you were little, I can actually say that and mean it. I am so, so proud of you."

"Thank you, but there's no need-" Deborah began to insist, trying to remain the responsible adult that she now was, even though the air in her lungs was whirring this way and that, and a lump was forming in her throat; _finally_…but she was too old for things like that to mean anything.

"Shush, Debbie!" Granny ordered, and Deborah's mouth snapped shut; beside her, Martin made an amused sound, but was ignored, "I'm so happy for you, and I know I'm getting old, and closer to kicking the bucket, but I would still like to see you two being a happy married couple, and making lots of tiny children that you actually get to keep this time."

"Um…thank you…?" Martin spoke when Deborah didn't, narrowing his eyes and peering at the old woman, bewildered; Deborah took his hand, and he looked to her, evidently trying to work out whether she had just been insulted, "Was that…?"

"I can hear you, I'm not deaf." Granny scolded him, calmly, with the composure of a fearsome saint; Martin shut up immediately, blushing furiously, "The second thing I wanted to do, was to give you a wedding present." Deborah opened her mouth, but Granny snapped and pointed sharply, "Shush! I'm old; I can do what I like. How are you going to feel if I die in half an hour and you stopped me from doing what I came here for?"

"Sorry, Granny." Deborah sighed, slouching more comfortably onto her knees so that she could rest her chin on the hand that wasn't clenched in Martin's palm; there was no arguing with the woman, and to be honest, she was waiting in trepidation for some shred of wisdom, or parental scold that would make everything clear.

"Right, so." Granny started, setting her shoulders back and reaching into her pocket; the way that she moved was terrifying, and Deborah wanted to lurch forwards and hold her together, but she just watched as her grandmother leaned forwards and took Martin's hand, pressing something down into it, and then staying, as if withholding the reveal, "Your present was too big to bring up here, but I can give you these. This is more for you, young man, than for Debbie, although I suppose it could serve a family."

"Are these…these are car keys." Martin murmured thickly as she slouched back in her wheelchair, and he was able to peer down at the glinting object in his palm; the realisation was slow to cloud his features, but the moment that they did, far more quickly than Deborah could force speech over her own speechlessness, his back was straight and he was clearing his throat, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, we can't accept-"

"You'll take what you're given, no arguments." Granny told him sternly, and Martin could only clamp his mouth shut and nod, "I noticed there was no get-away car out front for when you drive into the sunset, but I think this one should do nicely. It's a Jaguar, Mark 2, 3.8 – a red one too, just like Debbie's granddad used to drive before he passed away." Another hand dipped into her pocket, and Martin received a sheet of paper, which made his eyes blow even wider, "Here, I had Archie take a picture in between his salivating over it."

"Oh my god…" Martin breathed, shrilly, like whistling the air through his windpipe without any real control or willpower; he tilted the page towards Deborah, and slumped back in his seat, releasing her hand so that he could run his own over his face, "Oh wow…"

"Granny, you can't give us a _car_." Deborah insisted, far more shrilly than she would ever admit to being; this was beyond generosity, it was plain stupidity, and they couldn't accept it, not in a million years, not when Granny was starting to sound a bit like she had fresh out of flight-school, "This goes against everything you ever told me when I was little."

"Let's be frank dear; I'm near death, and you're not exactly a spring chicken." Granny remarked wryly, rolling her eyes, which were almost dry now with age; it was hard to argue with that kind of logic, "Now's the time for living, girl, not for hanging around. Besides, it's far better than that ridiculous purple thing you were driving last time I saw you; Granddaddy would be ashamed to see you in anything quite so gaudy."

"Alright…thank you." Deborah said, conceding defeat; she reached out a hand to squeeze Martin's wrist, but he was still fanning himself with the picture of the classic car, his dazed stupor shattered and bombed by the stunned punch that he had taken to the gut, "I'm glad you came-"

"I'm not finished yet." Granny interrupted, shaking her head, completely oblivious to the laws of conversation as many an elderly person tends to be; once again she reached into her pocket, and brought out a tattered sheet of paper, which shuddered between her fingers, "I have one more thing to give you. I meant to give it to you years ago, but it never seemed like a good time."

"What is it?" Deborah asked, leaning across the space between them to take the sheet of paper; she didn't look at it, afraid of what she might find, but held in over her lap and held her grandmother's gaze, hoping that her eyebrows weren't so far into her hairline that they might never return.

"It's a cheque for the money in your saving's account. The one that I opened the day you were born." Granny explained, as if it were no matter at all; that she had been keeping it a secret for years didn't seem to impede her confidence at all, "I put ten pounds a month in, every month, until you were eighteen…then, when I didn't give it to you, I just kept putting ten pounds a month in – and of course, extra lump sums at birthdays and Christmases and Easters, whenever I had a cash flow really. Now…it would be silly to keep it, and I think you could use a little something to put it your pockets, for the future."

"Granny, that is – _oh my god!" _Deborah's mouth fell open, and she might have actually fainted for a moment, toppling forwards before catching herself when she turned the cheque over in her hands and_ saw_ what was written on it; all the air ejected itself from her lungs, and all that Deborah could do was grasp aimlessly at Martin's arm and thrust the cheque into his hands,_ "Martin…"_

"_Holy sh-_oh, wow…that is…" Martin stammered, and stared, and started, shifting to the edge of his seat, mouth agape; his eyes darted between Granny and the cheque, and then he exhaled sharply, and turned to stare wide eyed at Deborah, hand shooting out to take her and grip it painfully, fingers digging between her knuckles, "_Deborah_…"

"This is _thirty thousand, eight hundred pounds!"_ Deborah exclaimed, hissing in an attempt not to be overheard by the guests that were starting to notice that their host weren't just sitting around for a jolly chat; this was…this was completely…she looked down at the cheque one last time, to see if it was real, and then up at Granny, to see if she had completely lost her mind, "And sixty pence…you can't just give us _thirty grand_!"

"Would you rather it got put in my will and split between you and Archie?" Granny inquired coolly, utterly unabashed by the horror on the faces of the two people in front of her; in fact, she actually seemed a little insulted, "Archie's got plenty of money. And it's for _you_…I saved it for you, because you're my only granddaughter."

"Archie's your only grandson!" Deborah insisted, forcing herself to breathe properly as she clutched the stiff paper in her palm; this was completely ridiculous….this many good things did _not_ happen all at once.

"Well, I didn't say that favouritism didn't play a part in it." Granny remarked sheepishly, averting her eyes for only a second; the only sign that she was aware how monumentally outlandish her gift was.

"Why did you keep putting money in?" Deborah asked, already feeling her resolve slipping as her shoulders began to sag; they could do so much with this money, so much that they had planned to miss out on, "Why didn't you just give it to me when I was eighteen and save yourself…what…how much could you have saved?"

"About twenty-nine grand." Martin supplied helpfully, though his voice still sounded hollow, as if he were removed from the world; Deborah gave his hand a grateful squeeze, unsure of what else could really be said.

"Because, I didn't want you having that sort of money at eighteen. You were irresponsible, and a drunk, and you couldn't even choose the right degree…" Granny explained, as always, unabashed and pulling no punches; brutally honest, brutally down to earth, no matter how much her body betrayed her, "Then you were older, and a good pilot, and I thought about it…but you got a divorce, and the drinking, oh the drinking was awful for _years_, so I thought 'that girl can have her money when she deserves it'. Then you had your child taken away, then you were married again…I was very disappointed, and worried about what would happen."

"And now I'm good enough am I?" Deborah demanded weakly; she couldn't just let her give them so much money…even though there was no fighting it…one last try, before her heart leapt so high in her throat that it became irretrievable.

"Yes. I think that your mother would agree with me. You may not be in a very good job, but Archie tells me that you're doing well, and that your relationship with Verity is good, and that you and your new husband are perfectly stable and happy…" Granny replied, curtly, as if she were reading from the encyclopaedia; beside her, Deborah felt Martin sit up a little straighter, as his sleeve brushed against the bare skin at her elbow, "For the first time in years Debbie, I am very proud of you, and I think that you deserve this money. Keep it, and put it in the bank, and send your children to good schools, or pay for music lessons, or a nice house for them. I'm too old to need that kind of money rolling around my bank account."

"Thank you…so much." Martin took the lead before Deborah could even try and refuse again, lowly, thickly, in the smooth tone of voice so laced with gratitude, but so strong, that it might have done well on the flight-deck, giving announcements; he released Deborah's hand, only to rise to his feet and take Granny's, and ask, "Would you like a drink, or…"

"I'll have vodka, no ice." Granny replied politely, as an indulgent smile took over her lips and brought the faint whisper of a flush to her cheeks; she had got what she wanted, and Martin was nodding and doing as he was told, walking away and disappearing downstairs as she called at his back, "Thank you dear."

The decision was made…Martin was accepting one final miracle on top of the others that had been doled out to them over the course of the day. They were married…oh god, they were married, and that would have been enough for a lifetime. Now they had a car and a small fortune…life should never have been so _good_ Deborah thought, as she stared into space. Perhaps that was why her stomach felt so dizzy.

"Are you going to be staying long?" Deborah inquired, when the silence became painful; she lifted her gaze to meet Granny's eyes, and just like that the pickles of nervousness were plucking at her insides again, washing like a wave held back by whatever barriers she still possessed. This wasn't right at all.

"I'll stay as long as I please." Granny replied tartly, in the haughty, superior tone that she still mastered despite her voice being nothing more than a thin reed nowadays; she took one look at Deborah's face, and can't have liked what she saw, "Don't look at me like that; I'm too old to be missing things because I'm too old. Think long and hard about that Debbie; it's a metaphysical conundrum."

"Do you really think I'm good enough now?" Deborah asked faintly, taking small comfort from the solidity of her knuckles beneath her chin; damn…she hadn't even known that she was thinking that, let alone asking it. With Martin for a husband, and everything in place, that shouldn't have even been a question anymore…she was a sky god, not a little girl.

"Oi, you, zip it. I don't want to hear another word about that." Granny snapped; if she had been close enough, Deborah was sure that she would have thwacked her with the back of her hand, "You made mistakes, but they're in the past now. What you need to do is to keep looking forwards, and make the most of the good things you've got now."

"But I-" Deborah started, but she wasn't allowed to finish.

"No, no lingering in the past!" Granny insisted, waving her hands in the air as if in despair, or as if she were batting flies, "Do you still dream of joining that, Starfleet?"

"Sometimes." Deborah admitted petulantly, scuffing the toe of her shiny shoe on the floor; that was a secret though, and never to be spoken of out loud, or with anyone related to MJN, "Martin and I would have fun…if we had a decent ship."

"That was a bad example." Granny sighed, letting her eyes fall closed; there was no missing the exasperation in her tone, "I was trying to point out that just because you wanted something in the past, doesn't mean you want it now. How about this…can you go back in time and change things, stop being an alcoholic, keep your baby, avoid getting married to idiots?"

"No." Deborah replied shortly; what else was there to say?

"Then why the hell are you worrying about it." Granny growled, or as close to a growl as a woman of her age could reach; it wasn't a question, it was a command, and Deborah couldn't help but breathe a little easier because of it, "If all that you can touch is the now and the ahead, then enjoy the now and keep looking forwards. Forget your mistakes…they've forgotten you."

* * *

**Ta-da! **

**Yes, the ending's a bit clunky, but there was really nowhere to go from there - yet! More chapters to come, of course. I haven't finished quite yet : )**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Here is the next chapter, with far more things in it. Hooray!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Three weeks trotting around Europe, and Martin's freckles were almost imperceptible beneath the sunburn that spackled his cheeks. He kept noting her tan, but Deborah couldn't really tell. They had been enjoying themselves far too much to pay attention to such inconsequential things, but now that they were home, there would be plenty of time to catalogue their souvenirs as they adjusted to their newly married life.

It had been funny, throughout the honeymoon, to be the passengers on board their flights; Martin had quibbled over the protocol that he thought were being broken or adhered to, and Deborah had smirked and smiled and tried to keep him in his seat, thinking up new games to keep them entertained without upsetting the cabin crews.

Now though, it was just good to be home. Or it would be, if Martin would pick up his bags and let her through the front door.

"No, Martin, you can't carry me in." Deborah insisted, putting up the minimum of resistance that she could get away with as Martin slipped his arms around her waist smiling wickedly as their noses brushed; he mind was absolutely set upon carrying her over the threshold, despite how ridiculous an idea it was, "Don't even try."

"Yes I can." Martin replied, with the confident curtness that came with being a captain well sunned and still basking in the glow of weeks of…_fun_; his hands slipped from her waist to her shoulders, and Martin beamed as he brushed the tips of his fingers through the hair that escaped from behind her ears, "You forget, I make a living from lifting heavy things."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Deborah drawled, quirking an eyebrow at him and winding her fingers around his wrists; the new status of their relationship didn't mean that she was going to stop teasing him…quite the opposite in fact.

"Nothing…" Martin amended hastily, drawing his bottom lip through his teeth; he looked apologetic for a fraction of a second, and in the next he was grinning, and he ducked down, hooking his arms around Deborah's waist and her knees, "Come here."

"No, n-n-no!" Deborah absolutely didn't squawk as the ground disappeared from beneath her feet; her hand grasped at the open doorframe as she Martin swung her into his arms, faltering only slightly as his chest heaved, and she was forced to slip her arms around his shoulders, "Martin! Put me down!"

"Nope." Martin chuckled, as he walked them through the door; as he went, he kicked their bags into the hall, and nudged the door closed, before his smile grew wider, and he blinked down at Deborah with the sort of light in his eyes that made her lungs expand and flutter with more hot air than they could cope with, softening her resolve and making her ache to let him carry on, "I love you Mrs Crieff."

"I love you too Martin." Deborah murmured, letting her arms relax and her eyes fall closed as she closed the gap between them, pressing a determined kiss to his lips; when she tried to pull away, stroking the tops of her fingers down his neck, Martin ducked down for one last kiss before she turned her cheek away and shifted in his hold, "Now put me down before I kick you."

"Fine." Martin groaned good-naturedly; he ambled towards the sofa, and attempted to lower them both down onto the cushions, but ended up stumbling and sending them both toppling down, landing in an awkward tangle of limbs, "Ow…oops, sorry."

"No don't worry about, darling." Deborah remarked, pushing her hair from her eyes and over her shoulders; lifting herself from the sofa, she gave Martin the room to sit back, so that she could lie back down with her shoulder against his chest, pulling his arms around her waist and curling her hands around his, "You've done worse than drop me before."

"Shut up." Martin muttered against her cheek; for a moment he was silent, and Deborah could enjoy the sound of his heart thrumming steadily inside his gently rising chest, but that didn't last long; he had been eager to make the most of every second from their first minute of peace after the wedding, "What do we do now? There's nothing waiting and no work to do…and I'm kind of tired."

"I don't know, Martin." Deborah replied, content to relax into a cuddle and play with the palms of his hands, tracing the lines and dry patches of skin where he had worn down the crooks of his thumbs; there was no need to rush anymore, they had all the time in the world together, "What do you _want_ to do?"

"Married things…Is it too early to start planning for the future?" Martin elaborated, coyly as he fidgeted, shrugged his shoulders, "Surely there's stuff that needs talking about sooner rather than later? It be nice, i-if we had one of those things, those married things, just to sort of symbolise us finally settling down. Like a statement."

"You mean…like getting married, perhaps?" Deborah drawled, tipping her head back so that she could see him flush and pout his lips; it was '_look, I'm the captain_' all over again, except this time he had something other than his hat to shove in parade around in front of people.

"Other than getting married I mean." Martin explained, wriggling his fingers against hers; then he jolted and stammered, taking care to meet her gaze, "N-not that that isn't enough! It's everything, of course, but, I just thought that-"

"I know." Deborah assured him, pressing their joined hands over his lips to shut him up; it may not have been her first marriage, but it was the first time that she had had any idea of what she was entering into, so she understood him, even if anyone else might have been insulted, "I'm assuming when you say 'married thing' you don't mean putting the energy bills under both of our names?"

"No...something fun." Martin replied, adjusting his arm around her waist; his idea of fun was no necessarily the same as hers, but it couldn't be awfully dull, "Something nice, that'll last."

"Hmmm…" Deborah hummed in acknowledgement, and closed her eyes as she rested her cheek against Martin's chest; they _did_ need something solid to lay down, something shared and not simply negotiated between them…now that the foundations of their future were planted, it was the time to explore all of the things that they had always wanted, but never been in a position to get, "You know…I've always liked the idea of having a cat."

"A cat?" Martin repeated, as if she were mad; he stiffened and leant back so that he could grimace within her line of sight, obviously recalling his last interactions with the feline species, "Oh…I suppose." he couldn't even force a smile, but his eyebrows rose slowly to meet his hairline, and he asked, "They're quite easy to look after, aren't they?"

"So long as you feed them and let them sit on you, they're no trouble at all." Deborah replied; she turned so that she was lying on her side, curled around him, releasing his hand so that she could tap her fingers against his chest, "Why, are you considering it?"

"It doesn't sound too bad…a cat might be nice actually, ou-our first pet." Martin mused, stretching out and rolling his shoulders until they were both lying more horizontally on the cushions; his expression drooped in a matter of seconds as his brow furrowed, "Oh! But we _can't_- who'd look after it? I mean, w-we spend days and nights flying, a-and sometimes we can spent whole fortnights out of the country. If we had a cat, one of us would need to be in the flat at least once a day to feed it and make sure it was still alive."

"Oh…well, that was a short lived plan…" Deborah conceded, sighing as she tried to think of something else that they could do that would appease Martin's need to abide by the protocol of marriage, and keep her happy; unfortunately, her mind had been made, "We could get a cat later. When one of us isn't working…perhaps…at that point in our lives…"

"Why would one of us not be working?" Martin interjected, his voice low in his throat, throwing his confusion from the walls of their comfortable bubble; when Deborah didn't answer immediately, he sat up, practically tipping her from his lap until they were facing each other directly.

"It might become necessary that one of us stays in Fitton of a day and night…" Deborah explained, swallowing the sheepish lump in her throat as her eyes dropped to trace her hands and she nudged her knee against his, seeking some sign of confirmation; the thought was…dreary, and strange, but it had occurred, once or twice, that as comfortable as she they all were, the world that they had built up around them had ever stopped crumbling towards its end, "For example, if we had children to look after."

"Oh…" Martin's eyes widened, and even though they had talked about this sort of thing before, his cheeks still blushed pink, and he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, "S-so you, y-you _do_ want to have children? W-with me, I mean?"

"I know that _you _do." Deborah informed him, simply, the rush of affection in her chest washing into her smile as she allowed her hand to trace his knee, and to her pleasure, Martin grasped it in his; it was easier than admitting that she would very much like a family with him…far less risky, even if he could see through her prevarications.

"I-I-I…I've always wanted children – that would be _perfect_." Martin spluttered, his who face erupting into a thrilled beam that didn't seem sure which features it was going to overcome; he fidgeted and shifted, almost bouncing as he turned and folded his legs beneath him, taking both of Deborah's hands and leaning in as if conversing from a polite distance was too stressful, "I-I-I-"

"Good, then we're on the same page." Deborah remarked, pursing her lips; she had been looking forwards to a few more days of relaxation and romance, but if they were talking seriously, then that had to take precedence, "Which means that…when we do have children, we can't both be flying around the world. One of us will have to-"

"You sound like you've given this a lot of thought." Martin cut in, his eyebrows knitting as he blinked at her; after a moment, his confusion faded, and was replaced by a faint smile that curled at the corner of his lips, and the jittering in his limbs stilled, "You've been thinking about us having children? As in, sitting around making plans?"

"Not plans, just…it's been on my mind, and I couldn't help but think about the practical aspects of it." Deborah was caught between a smile and a grimace as Martin's gaze wandered over her face; the flittering in her chest wasn't easy to accept, no matter how much she loved him, "If…when we have children, it's going to mean me giving up my job, and-"

"Hold on." Martin let go of her hands and raised his own in the air between them; he shook his head and drew his bottom lip between his teeth, "Why would it have to be _you_ giving up your job? I could be a stay at home dad, o-or I could do a day job-"

"No you couldn't." Deborah interrupted sharply, grasping his wrists and lowering his hands, giving them an extra squeeze so that he knew that she was serious; she _had_ been thinking about their future, a lot, especially considering the mess that they had had to endure to even have a happy relationship, "Even if you could, there is no way in hell I'm letting you give up being a pilot. I would rather have no more children than make you give up everything that you've worked for." The memory of him leaving for Switzerland, and then abandoning the whole venture, still ached every time it wandered through her mind, and Deborah wasn't about to let him open his mouth and try to convince her that he could live a life that he didn't want, "Martin. This isn't up for discussion…I've had my time, and…I'm tired. As much as I love our job, it wouldn't hurt me to move on for the sake of having a family…it's not as if this is happening now."

The idea of one day not working for MJN, of having to say goodbye to GERTI and leave the flight-deck for the last time…of enduring a day out of the house in which she didn't get to look across the control panel and see Martin preening and fussing, or ding the bell and have Arthur bumble in with coffee in each hand…it was like trying to conceive the end of the world.

But it had to happen one day…and Deborah would rather have it happen on _her_ terms, when she had Martin and something good to look forward to, and could be sure that Carolyn and Arthur were only a phone call away. A proper family might make leaving the fun behind…worthwhile.

"Alright." Martin assented, nodding gravely, although she knew that he was grateful; then, as always, slowly but surely, his brow furrowed and his eyes widened, and he came to the same realisation that she had, "If…if you stop flying, then MJN will fold."

"I know." Deborah acknowledged briefly, making sure to school her expression so that Martin wouldn't have another reason to worry, or to feel guilty; she folded her legs and set her shoulders back, determined to get to the bottom of the matter, so that when they really did discuss starting a family, it was with smiles on their faces and not fears clouding their judgement, "That's…that's why we need to take our time and think about it."

"So we have to choose?" Martin asked bleakly, his gaze dropping to stare at his hands as they twitched, as if dying to embrace hers, "Start a family or…or lose MJN."

"No. There's no choice." Deborah sighed, shaking her head; she unfolded herself and crawled to Martin's side, smiling faintly as his head followed the movement, and hooking her arm through his, leaning into his side, "Carolyn and Arthur are a part of our lives…they won't disappear if we stop working together. And…MJN was ending before it began…we're not missing out on having a family for the sake of a crumbling company."

"Of course not." Martin nodded quickly, his voice dropping to a murmur; he turned slightly, so that they were almost facing each other, without losing their embrace, and spoke quietly, as if afraid that anything louder than a hush might shatter their current reality with echoes of a new one, "I'd have to get another job, with another airline."

"You can do it." Deborah promised, just as softly, murmuring so that if they moved a little closer, their lips might have been touching; unlike years ago, when she had sat in the flight-deck and watched him, storing up complaints to fire at her ex, she actually believed that he _could_, "You've managed before."

"Yeah…So…we have to give it time." Martin remarked, tipping his chin up and puffing out of his chest as if he were about to launch into a safety announcement; nevertheless, his tone remained intimate, and his eyes lingered lazily on hers, "When, uh, w-when were you thinking of all of this, uh, this life changing stuff?"

"I wasn't thinking of any time in particular." Deborah admitted, shrugging her shoulders and hooking one knee over his, "It's just…neither of us are particularly young, so it's been on my mind a lot, and I just started considering the logistics of it all-"

She hadn't made any plans, she wasn't like Martin, but she had lain in bed at night, in their various cheap hotel rooms across Europe, running Archie's warning through her head and imagining the millions of ways that Martin could look even more beautiful with a baby in his arms, or dancing his ridiculous dances with a tiny child clinging to his hands.

"If we both want children, then we don't have to wait until we're ready." Martin interjected brightly, as if that solved everything; impulsivity and indecision all wrapped into one, plan made, so let's do it.

"No, we do. I want to enjoy being married to you first, before we start...changing things." Deborah countered, without any real heat behind the statement; it was nice to be making plans, nice to be talking about it like adults, as if their continued future were guaranteed, and nice to rest her cheek on Martin's shoulder and feel him nodding against the top of her head, "We're not ready yet. And…I'm not ready to leave MJN yet; not even a little bit."

"Then…how about we wait a year?" Martin suggested; when Deborah only hummed, he shifted back and nudged her chin up so that he could look her in the eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip all the while, "I-if we wait a year, and then see how we feel, th-then we've had time to settle into being married, and to think about all those huge changes to our lives, a-and we could-"

"A year is good." Deborah assured him, placing her palm flat on his chest; she smiled, and Martin smiled back, and she couldn't quite contain the pleasure of being on the same page, something so simple, but completely wonderful when two people that were always arguing could agree upon something as…beautiful as their future together, "And when we decide to have children, we can get a cat."

"Yes." Martin sighed, closed his eyes and scrunching up the bridge of his nose; Deborah laughed, and had to sit back, covering her lips with the backs of her knuckles as he groaned, "Yes we can get a cat."

oOoOoOo

It was good to be back in the pilot's seat after weeks of only listening to other pilots deliver perfect announcements through the intercom, without a single diversion or accident. Not that Deborah planned on allowing Martin to divert or have an accident; the potential was familiar and welcome though, and she couldn't help but smile and sigh as she sank into the stiff pads of her seat and listen to the clunking and whirring of GERTI's faulty control panel.

Martin was leaning across the panel, finger pressed into the intercom button, a cheesy grin plastered over his face, red from the exertion of being so consistently excited by being back at work; his hat was even propped atop his head despite the fact that they had taken off, and he had no intention of leaving the flight-deck.

"Hello passengers! This is your Captain speaking; Captain Martin Crieff." Martin announced, shooting Deborah glances over his shoulder as if to include her in his grand joke; it was enough to make her smirk, contented in the fondness that simmered in her chest whenever he played her games, "Flying with me today is my First Officer; First Officer Crieff – that is First Officer _Deborah Crieff_, my _wife_. Just to verify, this is our first flight after we got _married_, and with me today is my _wife_, First Officer _Crieff_!"

"And our flight time should be about seven hours." Deborah remarked, as she reached across to place her hand over Martin's keeping the intercom on as she spoke; the sheepishness that flashed across his expression as he hastily cleared his throat was worth the prod, "The Captain will turn off the seat belt sign when we've reached our maximum altitude."

The door to the flight-deck clicked open just as the both of them sat back, and Deborah reached across the gap between them to knock Martin's hat to the side, to which he retaliated by taking hers completely, before returning it when he realised that she didn't really care whether she was wearing it or not.

"Aw, that was brilliant Skip." Arthur exclaimed as he shuffled into the flight-deck and pulled the door closed behind him; he came to stand between their seats, one arm draped over the back of each, "At least one of the passengers was pleased for you."

"Good." Martin replied, nodding sagely and flicking a switch above his head, before dropping his hand to rest on the controls; he preened smugly, glancing between Deborah and Arthur, tipping his nose into the air, "It's nice to know that someone's happy for us."

"_Yes_; it's almost as if those teenagers care more about comic-con than their pilots' love lives." Deborah drawled, smirking as she admired the determinedly abashed set of Martin's jaw; she wasn't stupid enough to think that the world cared about their happiness, even if she did, "How dare they finish constructing their costumes instead of congratulating you?"

Deborah was careful not to tease him _too_ much; she had smiled and laughed at first, but Martin had plenty of ammunition, as while he had been telling one group of young lads about how it was their first flight since they had married, she had become enthralled in a conversation that a pair of young ladies, dressed as Kirk and Spock respectively, were having regarding the practical potential of studying physics with the intention of discovering warp drives. Needless to say, Deborah was keeping her mouth shut as she wasn't sure how much of her own Starfleet related knowledge he had overheard.

"Us." Martin corrected her, attempting to hide his pout as he pushed his hat more securely on his head; of course, the novelty of their marriage hadn't yet worn off, and he had been vehement about their doing everything properly, as a team, all together and by the book…it wasn't about him at all, "They should be congratulating us."

"Of course." Deborah retorted, rolling her eyes and folding one leg over the other, wrapping her arms around her waist as she relaxed; whatever he said, any congratulations and joy was Martin's, and not hers, because he deserved it in ways that she didn't, "My mistake."

"I thought it was lovely." Arthur sighed, leaning bodily against the seats in a thoughtful, musing way, eyes wandering onto the sky ahead; as Deborah tipped her head back to get a better look at him, he jolted and remarked cheerfully, as if it were just a passing idea, "You know chaps, I thought that you'd come back from your honeymoon all…_married_, but you're actually the same as always; it's brilliant."

"When you say married, what do you mean?" Martin inquired, turning his head and narrowing his eyes at Arthur; his tone was laced with suspicion, the sort that was always followed by indignation.

"More like forced associates than lovers?" Deborah suggested, without the dreariness that she might have felt a few years beforehand; she was confident that she would never feel the same disinterest for Martin that she had for her ex-husbands after only a year of marriage to both of them.

"Yeah…" Arthur agreed, nodding with his lips pressed into a thin line, although he didn't seem particularly upset by the idea; he shrugged his shoulders and ignored the pointed glare that Martin shoot him, "I'd got so used to Mum and Dad arguing that I forgot it was supposed to be romantic."

"Yes, well." Martin cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back, squaring his stance as his brows dipped in the centre of his forehead; he made a point of looking between Deborah and Arthur and holding both of their gazes for a moment or two, "No offence, but Deborah and I are nothing like your parents."

"Although I can't guarantee that we won't argue." Deborah remarked, taking a shred of pleasure from the almost silent huff that Martin produced as he sagged into his seat; nothing was changing, not _really_, now that everything was finally back on track, "I got a call from one of my old acquaintances-"

"_No_!" Martin exclaimed, cheeks flushing indignantly; he shook his head furiously and gazed at her as if begging her to do as he asked, a hopelessness existing even then, "No smuggling, Debs, _please_! This is supposed to be a fresh start."

"I'm not promising you anything until I've found out exactly what's on offer." Deborah smirked, laughing as she watched Martin huff and jab at a control that didn't do anything at all, and Arthur opened his mouth, presumably to ask whether he could help her with anything.

Again, the flight-deck door opened, and Carolyn burst in, grumbling under his breath and shaking her head, tracing her hair with the tips of her fingers as if to keep it in place; anyone would have thought that she was having a hard time looking after their customers while the three of them lounged about at the front of the plane.

"Martin!" Carolyn snapped, her tone heaving with exasperation as she wafted Arthur out of the way, until the both of them were standing either side of the jump-seat; Martin peered over his shoulder, wide-eyed and unassuming, as she grimaced down at him, "What have I told you about harassing the passengers?"

"I wasn't harassing them." Martin insisted, petulantly, like a child defending its rights to do as it pleased; Deborah chuckled and shook her head, dropping her eyes and picking at her epaulets so that she didn't appear to be enjoying his fervour so much, "It was an announcement."

"After the fuss you made in person this morning, just talking to them is harassment." Carolyn retorted, although she didn't seem as displeased as she tried to sound; besides, Martin _had_ been particularly…chipper, when he had greeted the young passengers that morning, "I'm pleased that you're both happy, if only because happy pilots means a peaceful flight, but do try and contain your glee."

"We should be throwing a post-honeymoon celebration." Arthur declared, throwing his hands into the air; he was possibly the only person on the plane unfazed by the degree of enthusiasm that their captain had been exuding, "Or a party!"

"Arthur, light of my life, the flight-deck can only contain so much cheer." Carolyn sighed, batting her hand through the air; she nodded towards the Galley, "Go and serve the passengers more snacks."

"Righto." Arthur chirped, nodding and swinging his hands; without another word, he ambled from the flight-deck. He would have far more fun surrounded by young fans than he would talking to _them_.

"Are you not enjoying the vigour of the youth, Carolyn?" Deborah inquired coyly, blinking up at her as she watched Arthur retreat over the top of her seat; "I'd have thought that you'd have been thrilled that so many students wanted ferrying across the Atlantic at last minute rates."

"They're actually not bad compared to some people we've had on board." Carolyn admitted, cocking her head to the side as her expression softened somewhat; she stepped forwards so that she was between their seats, and they didn't have to peer away from the sky, "If it weren't for the yelled debates over which characters should have slept with and or murdered whom, then they'd be the epitome of perfect behaviour."

"So, Carolyn…" Martin uttered, after a moment of quiet fell between them, and the whirring crackle of GERTI's panel faltered and then kicked in again; he paused, drew his bottom lip between his teeth, and then as always, ploughed ahead, "Did something happen while we were gone?"

"What do you mean?" Carolyn asked, blinking down at him in confusion.

"It's just that Arthur's, well, Arthur again." Martin noted, nodding towards the Galley; it was true, that over the course of their honeymoon, Arthur's previous candour and sombre façade had disappeared, and any emotions that he was experiencing in the wake of their wedding were gone, "He seemed a bit subdued when we left, but he's all…bouncy again."

"Oh, yes." Carolyn remarked brightly, eyes widening as she realised what he meant; if Deborah wasn't mistaken, she would have sworn that she was pleasantly surprised by her own answer, "He's got himself a new girlfriend, as unbelievable as that might sound."

"Really?" Martin replied, displaying the surprise that Deborah was feeling, but able to hide; he was only overcome for a moment though, as he nodded in acceptance and inquired more brightly, pushing his hat back so that he wasn't peering around its rim and his view of Carolyn wasn't blocked, "What's she like?"

"I don't know; I haven't met her." Carolyn replied, making a helpless gesture with her hands and pursing her lips; that was odd, but she didn't seem concerned…not that Arthur had ever done anything deserving of concern, "All I know is that he met her on your wedding day, and that they've been seeing each other on the sly ever since."

"Oh, isn't that lovely." Deborah purred, sitting up a little straighter; she had to admit, she was rather pleased for him; it would be nice if all of the crew could had _someone_, even if those someones included Herc and a complete stranger, "I always feel a certain sense of pride whenever Arthur does anything on the sly."

"Not sly enough that I didn't find out." Carolyn scoffed, rolling her eyes in a way that in any other person might have been a fond motion, "I don't know why he hasn't said anything yet; he's never normally this secretive about his relationships, if you could call most of them that."

"Maybe she's a criminal." Martin theorised, lowering his voice into a hushed whisper as his eyes darted towards the door; he even went so far as to duck his head as if they were under attack from above.

"Or simply shy." Deborah countered, quirking her eyebrow at him; without another word, she reached forwards and clicked on the intercom, speaking into the receiver before Carolyn could inject herself and try to stop her, "Arthur, could you come to the flight-deck for a minute?"

"If you're questioning him then I'm leaving." Carolyn informed them, stepping back and raising her hands into the air in surrender; the door opened behind her just in time for her to step backwards through it, dodging Arthur as she went, "I've heard enough gushing about romance, real and fictional, to last me a life time."

"You alright chaps?" Arthur asked, sparing his mother a glance as she passed and the door clanged shut at his back; he rubbed his hands together in a business-like manner, "Is it time for your coffees already?"

"Not yet, Arthur. We were just wondering whether you'd acquired anyone new in your life." Deborah explained, before Martin could open his mouth; she watched Arthur's expression cloud over with confusion, although she knew that he wasn't stupid and that he couldn't have been that bewildered, "You know, while we were away on our honeymoon…" when Arthur still shook his head unassumingly, her patience snapped, and she demanded, "We want to know about your new girlfriend."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Martin added, getting his word in before Arthur could answer; the 'oh' that Arthur's mouth fell into gave him the time to turn in his seat and check their height, and to wait for a good excuse to come.

"Because it's your time to be happy." Arthur answered, when his face had gone red and he had done his visible best to devise some sort of clever reply, and come up with nothing; he shrugged his shoulders and returned to stand between their seats, "I was going to tell you, just after your wedding was far enough in the past that I wasn't stealing your thunder."

"Oh, Arthur, you don't have to worry about that." Martin assured him, with an air of authority that only he could claim, and that only Arthur ever responded to with more than a nod and a smile, "We're happy for you."

"Yes, quite." Deborah corroborated, nodding swiftly and curling her hand through the air, pushing taking her hat from her head and dropping it to the side; she turned, trusting Martin to keep an eye on the controls, and addressed Arthur directly, "Now, tell me about this woman that even your mother hasn't met. When am I going to get to meet her?"

"_Deborah_." Martin scolded her, flicking his wrist towards her without making contact; she didn't care though, she wanted to know what Arthur had been getting up to…from a caring vantage, of course.

"You can meet her when we get back to Fitton if you like." Arthur offered, leaning against the back of her chair, folding his arms just to the side of where her head rested as if it were no matter at all; she supposed that from his point of view, it really wasn't, "She's going to pick me up from the airfield and take me to see a play at the theatre. The proper theatre though, not the amateur one in town. Sandra likes all the old plays, so she's making me see them as well; they're really good."

"Sandra?" Deborah repeated, smirking and raising her eyebrows; she lifted her hand to brush over Arthur's wrist, flicking the buttons of his cuff with her nails, "A taste for old plays? She sounds intriguing."

"She _is_." Arthur agreed, nodding vehemently as his turned his wrist under her touch; his eyes took on a glazed appearance, as he gazed into the middle distance, "She's studying to be a historian, or a history teacher…or a history writer…definitely not one of those people that dig for lost cities."

"You mean archaeologists?" Martin suggested, his brow furrowing as he caught Arthur's attention.

"Yep, those ones." Arthur replied, pursing his lips and nodding sagely; all that he seemed capable of doing was nodding, as if he were so overcome with his positivity that his body couldn't accept a shake or a shrug, "Sandra's not one of those."

"She sounds remarkable…" Deborah mused thoughtfully, turning her tongue against her teeth so as not to say exactly what was on her mind; she couldn't quite imagine Arthur with the type of woman that she was picturing in her head, no matter how much she had accepted him into _her_ life, "Where did _you_ meet a woman like that?"

"At the supermarket." Arthur answered, grinning, his whole expression lighting up; no matter who this woman was, she most definitely had his affections, "I went to buy something after your wedding reception, and I met her there. She's really short you see, so I helped her reach something off the top shelf; she was so grateful that she accidently knocked over the whole aisle."

"So Sandra's a historian, who likes classical theatre?" Deborah acknowledged, slumping against the back of her seat; she didn't linger on the scene that was playing out in her mind, focusing instead of the woman's selling points, "And she's dating you?"

"Deborah!" Martin scolded her again, but she paid him no notice; he was hardly the epitome of manners.

"I don't mean it like that." Deborah amended her statement, glaring pointedly at Martin; he _had _to be wondering the same thing, "I only meant that I'm having a hard time spotting a common point of interest."

"Oh, I like all the things she likes." Arthur promised, completely unfazed; his smile was as bright as ever, and there was a bounce in his posture as he rocked on his heels, "Well, I do _now_. It's just nice, you know, when someone's really passionate about something, and you come away feeling like you've _learnt_ something."

Something about the look on his face, and the sincerity in his tone, that made Deborah back down, and nod slowly; if Arthur was happy, then he was happy, and that was a far lovelier thing to take to heart than doubt.

oOoOoOo

The moment that they made it back to the porta-cabin, Arthur disappeared, presumably to wait for his girlfriend; he had been forced to promise that he brought her in to meet everyone, so while Martin sat behind their desks, scribbling away at their log books and filling in the paperwork, Carolyn and Deborah sat on opposite ends of the sofa, reading different sections of that morning's paper.

The last hour before they had reached Fitton, Arthur's behaviour had become…suspect. He was jittering and smirking to himself, making grand statements when asked about the flush in his cheeks and how clumsy he was being, spending more time with the passengers now exhausted from a weekend of fun, some still with paint on their faces, and whenever Deborah wandered into the Galley to ask him what he was planning, he just tapped his nose and ran away.

It was infuriating. Arthur was a terrible liar, but she had taught him well, and he was keeping his mouth firmly shut. Carolyn and Martin were sure that it couldn't be anything big or exciting; so while they went about their jobs and shouted at Arthur and Deborah for getting in the way, Deborah sat in the flight-deck marinating in suspicion. She knew the man too well, for too many years, to think that he was just in a good mood.

When Arthur finally returned, thudding into the porta-cabin door as it jammed and he was forced to kick the bottom to make it swing open, Deborah threw her paper to the side and sat up straight, while Martin lurched back from the desk and hurried to her side, perching on the arm of the sofa.

"Hi chaps, Mum." Arthur called out, waving his arm through the air before the woman that they could only just see had even made it into the room; he was hurried, and rocking on his heels, hastily digging his hands into the pockets of his coat, "This is Sandra. Sandra, this is Mum, and chaps."

Sandra stepped around Arthur to stand at his side, and Deborah leaned forwards on her knees to take a proper look at her; it became quickly apparent that she was nothing like the other girls that Arthur had picked up. There had been nothing wrong with the other girls, but they just hadn't been his type, not the sort that lasted when one half of the relationship was…well, Arthur.

She could have been twenty five or thirty five, and held herself with a restrained maturity that hung gently around her like a light breeze of calm and shyness. Her hair was blonde, and pulled into a thick and neat ponytail at the back of her head, that emphasised her green eyes and thin cheeks; the only marring feature were the faint bags under her eyes and the lines around them and her lips that suggested more of a frown than the nervous lilt of her mouth in that moment. There was nothing to be criticised in her jeans and black jumper that hung on her frame, hiding her figure completely.

The woman didn't flutter or fluster, and Deborah couldn't help but feel that she actually looked more contained and world-weary, _grown up_ than _she_ had at the same age; there was none of the desperation to prove that she deserved the space that she was filling.

"Hello." Sandra stepped forwards and gave a little wave as she wrapped her arms around her middle, smiling wanly and biting down on her lip; Carolyn rose to her feet, and pitying the poor woman having to face the lot of them, Deborah did the same, tugging on Martin's elbow to keep him in place, "I'm Sandra…Sandra Pinkleton."

"Carolyn Knapp-Shappey." Carolyn introduced herself, extending her hand into the air between them; Arthur nodded vehemently in the background as Sandra took his mother's hand and shook it, managing not to quaver or burst into flames, merely humming in acknowledgement and retreating an inch.

"And I'm Martin – Captain Martin Crieff." Martin lurched forwards and offered his own hand for her to take; Sandra's arm was jerked up and down in his enthusiasm, but she took it in her stride without complaint as he threw his other arm back and hooked his fingers into Deborah's sleeve, pulling her forwards from where she had stayed back to give Sandra space, "This is my wife, Deborah."

"Yes…Arthur mentioned that his friends had gotten married." Sandra replied politely, curling her arms once again around her middle, so that the loose folds of her jumper embraced her more tightly as she nodded, "Congratulations."

"Are you sure it was Arthur that told you?" Deborah inquired wryly, offering a welcoming smile in an attempt not to crowd the woman; she slipped her arm through Martin's and pulled him back to her side, "You might have simply heard it echoing from every mountaintop in Europe."

"No, I'm uh…I'm quite sure Arthur told me." Sandra replied, laughing slightly, though she didn't sound as if she were entirely convinced by her own efforts; her air of reluctant exhaustion was only compounded, "It was one of the first things he told me actually, when he tried to explain why he was so dressed up for a trip to Sainsbury's."

"If I'd known I was going to meet you I'd have dressed up anyway." Arthur remarked as he appeared at her elbow, beaming and fidgeting as he had been all day; he was distracted, his eyes on Sandra's alone, but there was no ignoring the fact that he was on the precipice of giving up whatever it was that he had been keeping to himself, "Although, I'd have had to have been psychic, which I'm not…that I know of."

"So you're just stopping by to take Arthur to a play?" Carolyn asked, maintaining her cool and standing with her hands carefully arranged at her hips; it was the same balance of intimidating and indulgent that she used to test the nerves of everyone she might have to spend long amounts of time with, "I'll admit that I'm mildly impressed that you've managed to curb his interests so; I could barely get him to read as a child."

"Yes, we're doing that." Sandra nodded hastily, and her fingers began to play idly with the material at her elbows, noticeably anxious in the repetitiveness; she glanced over her shoulder towards Arthur, "But actually um…Ms Knapp-Shappey…um…"

"Sandra wanted to ask you something, Mum." Arthur interjected cheerfully, whether to be helpful or simply being himself, it couldn't be certain; what was certain though, was the fact that this was the source of his excitement, as his eyes lit up with the unstable glint that he often adopted when involved in Deborah's schemes, "It's a really good idea."

"Yes, I…I don't know how much Arthur's told you about me, but I'm a historian; sort of, I'm studying the history of various countries." Sandra started again, shifting so that she was standing on her own two feet, without leaning on Arthur at all; her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, and spoke clearly and calmly, regardless of her physical signs of anxiety, "I'm planning on writing a book actually on the recent history of countries across the world, and how the development of their histories are interlinked regardless of geographical proximity…and other things."

"Wow…" Deborah remarked, nudging Martin in the ribs so that he would nod and 'ah' in appreciation as well, taking the hint rather quickly considering that he was watching the exchange through narrowed eyes; best to put Arthur's new girlfriend at ease, and not scare her away, "That actually _is_ impressive."

"And how does this relate to me?" Carolyn inquired curtly, suspiciously; she glared over Sandra's shoulder, but it was impossible to truly frighten the man that she had raised when he was oblivious to the simplest of things quite often.

"I was wondering, actually Arthur suggested, that because it would really help me to visit a lot of countries in order to get a taste of them…" Sandra elaborated as best that she could, even raising her hand when Arthur opened his mouth to try and interrupt; he let her speak, and speak she did, all on her own, which Deborah rather admired, "That maybe you might be willing to take another body on flights?"

"Sandra could be a stewardess!" Arthur exclaimed, into the stunned silence that followed the declaration; Deborah wasn't sure what she had been expecting, and when she glanced at Martin, he shrugged his shoulders, equally bewildered. Hiring new people hadn't been something that she had considered in…well…since before Martin.

"I don't believe I ever mentioned needing another stewardess." Carolyn stated, no nonsense, as her eyes wandered between Sandra and Arthur, both of whom were at different ends of the spectrum made especially for measuring enthusiastic optimism.

"Aw, but Mum." Arthur insisted, slipping his arm around Sandra's waist as if that might make his argument more convincing; she kept her arms folded, but leaned into his side, smiling gratefully as he continued, "It'd be brilliant!"

"I can't _afford_ another employee." Carolyn retorted, raising her hands into the air either side of her in despair; it was true that they couldn't afford a lot of things, no matter how stable the company was. It would be sad though, to see Arthur's face fall if the plan that had been keeping him cheerful all day were to fall through.

"If it gets me abroad, I'm willing to work for free-" Sandra remarked innocently, unravelling her arms and winding her fingers together, hands extending imploringly; she wasn't allowed to finish her sentence though.

"No you're not!" Martin barked shrilly, making all four of them startle; when Deborah turned and raised her eyebrows at him, he seemed to realise that the eyes of everyone in the room were on him, and his cheeks blushed and he cleared his throat, but carried on determinedly, in his 'captain' voice, "You're most definitely _not_ willing to work for free, _never ever_, at _all_! You are not willing to work for free – dear god don't tell her that."

"We might be able to afford a small wage." Deborah suggested, drawing their attention away from her husband; the way that Arthur's face lit up was worth the wrath that crossed Carolyn's, "We could manage minimum wage paid per hour she's on GERTI."

"Why are you suddenly so eager to help?" Carolyn demanded, keeping her cool for the sake of the guest; her glare would have made anyone else tremble, but Deborah simply hooked her arm more securely through Martin's and smiled serenely, for Arthur's sake, "I was under the impression that you hated new people; or is Herc just a special case?"

"I have nothing against new people." Deborah drawled, cocking her head to the side and resting her cheek on Martin's arm, ignoring his bewildered fidgeting; all the better for appearing unintimidating and imploring, "Come on, it'll be fun…Arthur could use some company that's his own age."

It worked; or at least, Deborah was sure that it had. Carolyn rolled her eyes and turned her back on both of her pilots, addressing Sandra with a carefully measured expression, linking her hands at her front in a business-like manner.

"Sandra…how are you at dealing with the public?" Carolyn asked, and just like that, the battle was won; perhaps Arthur had been learning over the years, that the best thing to do was catch her off guard, "And not the nice public, the horrible public that throws things and shouts and tries to swindle you out of all your money."

"I'm great with the public." Sandra replied, seeming to gain some volume as her cheeks dappled pink with relief; the tension left her shoulders, and she shot Arthur a pleasant smile, "I used to work in a pub, and whenever the punters got out of hand, I'd just raise my voice and whip 'em with my tea towel, and they'd be good as gold before you could count to four."

"Good. I'll consider giving you a proper interview." Carolyn informed her, pressing the tips of her fingers to her eyes; with a sigh, she rolled her eyes and began walking towards her office without any further ado, turning only as she reached the door to bid them farewell, "If you'll excuse me, I have to call the bank."

"Brilliant!" Arthur exclaimed, and he rocked once more, hands clenching as if he were dying to punch the air; the motion brought his wrist into his line of sight, and as he read his watch, he turned back to Sandra and asked, "Isn't the play soon?"

While Arthur and Sandra dropped into a hushed discussion over the time, and the rain outside the window, Deborah watched for only a moment before deciding that they could use their peace. Smoothing her hand down the inside of Martin's arm, she drew his gaze to her and nodded demonstratively towards the door, a little hint…that Martin completely ignored. As Arthur hurried from the porta-cabin, presumably to fetch Sandra's coat, Martin took the opportunity to accost the poor woman.

"So, Sandra…you've been dating Arthur for a few weeks now?" Martin inquired, cheeks flushed and smile stiff, in the polite way that only he could manage, as he slipped from Deborah's grasp and fiddled with his epaulets in an attempt to seem disinterested; Sandra nodded but said nothing, unassuming as she had appeared from the moment they had clapped eyes on her, so Martin, in his typical fashion, ploughed onwards with an awkwardly truncated laugh, "How is…I don't mean to be rude but…it's _Arthur_."

"What Martin means is that…Arthur's an acquired taste." Deborah interrupted, before Martin could say anything to make the woman's expression grow more perplexed; as she did so, she made a point of walking behind the desks to retrieve Martin's coat, and then heading towards the coat hook in the corner, "We love him to bits, of course, but quite often others…don't."

"I know what you mean; he's…happy." Sandra acknowledged, offering a faint little shrug as if to ask 'what can you do?'; the corners of her lips curled up and she looked a little less tired than she had as her eyes lit up and her eyelashes fluttered, without making her seem silly or girlish, "But that's why I love him, really, I do."

"Yes?" Deborah replied as nonchalantly as she could manage while on the move; even as she lifted Martin's coat behind him, and he fed his arms into their slots with only an odd glance and a sniff, Deborah couldn't help but be fascinated, and completely concerned that perhaps this woman wasn't loving Arthur the _right_ way. They had been through a lot together, and she would be failing him as a friend if he wasn't the _right_ sort of happy.

"Yes." Sandra nodded, and her expression grew more serious, more contemplative; her arms wound around her chest once more, and she ducked her head so that she might have been inspecting her toes as she kicked at the carpet, "He's…he's so happy, and cheerful, and so optimistic, and I…I've spent a lot of time _not_ happy, and I've never really been optimistic. It's just…I've been…depressed, a lot, and I've had a tough time, but with Arthur…" she didn't need to finish her sentence, as Deborah knew exactly what she meant; she could almost taste herself feeling the same sort of misery that Sandra wore on her every inch, years ago, but still within reach, "His whole view of the world is so bright that you come away from him feeling…feeling as if you've _learnt_ something…like my view of the world's been made a little less miserable. It's nice."

"Yes…Arthur does do that, doesn't he?" Deborah remarked, swallowing the fluttering pit in her throat as she tried not to empathise too much, but was unable to resist; instead, she comforted herself by giving Martin's arms a squeeze and offering a hand of acceptance, "Well, Sandra, I wish you all the best. Martin and I are heading home now, but I hope to see you again very soon."

"Do we have to go home?" Martin huffed, blinking in confusion as if he hadn't realised that he had reluctantly put on his coat just as she had wanted; his eyes followed Deborah's as she came to his side and wrapped her hands around his, and he leaned away as if to pull her back to the desk, "I haven't done the paperwork.

"If you come now, I'll make it worth your while." Deborah murmured, lifting herself onto her toes and murmuring in his ear; she smirked as she felt more than watched his cheeks turn a deeper shade of scarlet, and he nodded thickly, humming under his breath. There was no need for any more persuasion.

With that, they left Arthur and Sandra to themselves. Deborah hadn't been sure at first, but she clambered into the van with a thoughtful smile on her face. Arthur had finally done something completely, perfectly correct, and from the sounds of it, everything was going to turn out fine.

* * *

**Yep, clunky and a bit rushed, but I think that it was time to do a bit of plot related housekeeping after the wedding.**

**I hope you enjoyed it.**


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